A Country 'Squire, by whim directed,
The true ftanch dogs of chace neglected.
Beneath his board no hound was fed:
His hand ne'er ftroak'd the spaniel's head.
A fnappifh Cur, alone careft,
By lyes had banish'd all the reft.
Yap had his ear; and defamation
Gave him full fcope of converfation.
His fycophants must be preferr'd;
Room must be made for all his herd:
Wherefore, to bring his schemes about,
Old faithful fervants all muft out.
If any ftranger dar'd intrude,
The noify Cur his heels purfued.
Now fierce with rage, now ftruck with dread, 135
At once he fnarl'd, bit, and fled.
Aloof he bays, with briftling hair,
And thus in fecret growls his fear :
"Who knows but Truth, in this disguise,
May fruftrate my beft-guarded lyes?
Should the (thus mask'd) admittance find,
That very hour my ruin's fign'd."
Now, in his howl's continued found,
Their words were loft, the voice was drown'd.
Ever in awe of honeft tongues,
Thus every day he strain'd his lungs.
It happen'd, in ill-omen'd hour, That Yap, unmindful of his power, Forfook his poft, to love inclin'd; A favourite bitch was in the wind. By her feduc'd, in amorous play, They frisk'd the joyous hours away. Thus by untimely love pursuing, Like Antony he fought his ruin.
For now the 'Squire, unvex'd with noise, 155
An honeft neighbour's chat enjoys.
Be free, fays he; your mind impart;
I love a friendly open heart.
Methinks my tenants fhun my gate;
Why fuch a ftranger grown of late?
Pray tell me what offence they find:
"Tis plain they're not fo well inclin'd."
"Turn off your Cur (the Farmer cries)
Who feeds your ear with daily lyes.
His fnarling infolence offends:
'Tis he that keeps you from your
Were but that faucy puppy checkt,
You'd find again the fame refpect.
Hear only him, he 'll fwear it too,
That all our hatred is to you.
But learn from us your true eftate;
"Tis that curs'd Cur alone we hate."
The 'Squire heard Truth. Now Yap rufh'd in; The wide hall echoes with his din;
Yet Truth prevail'd; and, with disgrace,
The dog was cudgel'd out of place.
THE COUNTRYMAN AND JUPITER.
HAVE you a friend (look round and spy)
So fond, fo prepoffefs'd as I?
Your faults, fo obvious to mankind,
My partial eyes could never find.
When by the breath of Fortune blown,
Your airy castles were o'erthrown,
Have I been ever prone to blame,
Or mortify'd your hours with fhame ?
Was I e'er known to damp your fpirit,
Or twit you with the want of merit ?
'Tis not fo ftrange that Fortune's frown
Still perfeveres to keep you down.
Look round, and see what others do.
Would you be rich and honest too?
Have you (like those she rais'd to place)
Been opportunely mean and base ?
Have you (as times requir'd) refign'd
Truth, honour, virtue, peace of mind?
If thefe are fcruples, give her o'er;
Write, practife morals, and be poor.
The gifts of Fortune truly rate,
Then tell me what would mend
If happiness on wealth were built,
Rich rogues might comfort find in guilt.
the mifer's hoarded store,
As grows
His fears, his wants, increase the more.
Think, Gay, (what ne'er may be the cafe)
Should Fortune take you into grace,
Would that your happiness augment ?
What can she give beyond content ?
Suppose yourself a wealthy heir,
With a vaft annual income clear!
In all the affluence you poffefs,
You might not feel one care the lefs.
Might you not then (like others) find
With change of fortune change of mind?
Perhaps, profufe beyond all rule,
You might start out a glaring fool;
Your luxury might break all bounds:
Plate, table, horses, stewards, hounds,
Might fwell your debts: then, luft of play
No regal income can defray.
Sunk is all credit, writs affail,
And doom your future life to gaol.
Or, were you dignify'd with power,
Would that avert one penfive hour?
You might give avarice its swing,
Defraud a nation, blind a king:
Then, from the hirelings in your cause
Though daily fed with falfe applause,
Could it a real joy impart ?
Great guilt knew never joy at heart.
Is happiness your point in view?
(I mean th' intrinfic and the true)
She nor in camps or courts refides,
Nor in the humble cottage hides;
Yet found alike in every sphere;
Who finds content, will find her there.
O'erfpent with toil, beneath the fhade,
"Good Gods! he cries, 'tis hard to bear
A Peafant refted on his fpade.
This load of life from year to year!
Soon as the morning streaks the skies,
Induftrious Labour bids me rise;
With fweat I earn my homely fare,
And every day renews my care."
Jove heard the discontented ftrain, And thus rebuk'd the murmuring fwain.
Speak out your wants, then, honest Friend: Unjuft complaints the gods offend,
If you repine at partial Fate,
Inftru&t me what could mend your state.
Mankind in every station see.
What with you? tell me what you 'd be.”
So faid, upborne upon a cloud,
The Clown furvey'd the anxious crowd.
"Yon' face of care, fays Jove, behold,
His bulky bags are fill'd with gold.
See with what joy he counts it o'er !
That fum to-day hath fwell'd his store."
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