Scarce to these scenes of pleasure did he go,
Ere gout, relentless, fasten'd on his toe;
Although, to shorten his declining life,
He lack'd no better torment than his wife.
Old Discount, who, in forty years' retreat,
Had snuff'd the wholesome air of Lombard-street,
First felt his sudden passion to retire,
When Farmer Gubbins, o'er a Christmas fire,
Declar'd what sterling joy the country yields,
And prais'd his dogs, his horses, and his fields.
To leave the town, and rusticate dispos'd,
His books are balanc'd, his accounts are clos'd; In landed sureties he invests his gains,
And not one debt unsatisfied remains :
He builds, he plants, and counts his future years,
When Death, a ruthless creditor, appears:
Enough, that Discount did his life employ
In hoarding riches-let his heirs enjoy.
While yet my limbs are sound, and health remains, While yet the blood runs freely through my veins, Ere watchful Time, with slow and silent pace, Engraves a thousand wrinkles on my face; Ere yet my eyes grow dim, my hearing fail, I'll climb the hill, and wander through the vale ; Hear the sweet Lark salute the rising day,
And Philomela pour her evening lay;
Or with some chosen friend, in woodbine bow'r,
In social converse pass the cheerful hour,
Talk of our youthful days in merry vein,
And act our sports and gambols o'er again;
For many a sport had I, at many a time,
In youth's gay spring, when life was in its prime !
On Sabbath-days some visitor comes down,
And brings me all the latest news from town;
How many Frenchmen we have put to flight,
And who is made a bankrupt, who a knight.
Proud of my snug retirement, ere we dine
I show my guest my cattle and my kine,
My well-stor'd greenhouse, warm and trimly neat,
Where social plants from ev'ry climate meet;
My young plantation, full of vernal shoots,
My summer blossoms and autumnal fruits.
Happy old Man! my house and grounds my own,*
I envy not the monarch on his throne.
What though the dust in summer blind my eyes,
And bleak and cold the wint'ry tempests rise,
No noisy fish-wife bellows me to death,
No rank unwholesome vapours stop my
Happy old Man! here, in my country box,
* Fortunate Senex, ergo tua rura manebunt :
Et tibi magna satis; quamvis lapis omnia nudus, &c.
And fruitful fields, I learn the price of stocks,
As from my woodbine arbour, green and gay,
(The Hampstead stages passing twice a-day,)
My only daughter, zealous to amuse
My fond impatience, reads the weekly news!
Then come, my friend! 'tis nature's self invites ; Leave London's toilsome days and anxious nights; Indulgent Heav'n has multiplied thy store, Enough for thee, and canst thou wish for more? To rival patriots leave the sinking state, Nor hope to show thy talent for debate.Here, in the midst of exercise and health, Thy mind shall learn the real use of wealth; In stepping wide from Mammon's sordid elves, And doing good to others, and ourselves.
BENEATH a shade, near Inner-Temple Lane,
Sat fond Alexis, a despairing swain;
A lawyer he, whom cruel love in sport
Had driv'n, relentless, from the Inns of Court:
Who, since he bow'd to little Cupid's yoke,
Had thought no more of Lyttelton and Coke,
But tun'd his plaintive harp to grief alone,
And Gray's-Inn gardens answer'd to his moan.
"Ah! Easter Monday! Day for ever dear!
Thou blithesome herald of the vernal year;
To me, alone, thou prov'st a galling smart,
For on thy luckless day I lost my heart.
Fair shone the rosy morn, at six I rose,
And view'd with eager eyes my Sunday clothes;
Th' embroider'd vest, the pantaloons so trim;
The high-crown'd modish hat with narrow brim;
The hessian boot, the coat with taper skirt,
The stiff-starch'd cravat, and the ruffled shirt!
Thus nattily equipp'd, a London spark!
I march'd with hasty step to Greenwich Park;
Through clouds of dust I bent my joyous way,
With song and whistle, for my heart was gay;
But little thinking I should find, ére night,
My heart so heavy, and my purse so light.
Ye Muses of Apollo's sacred hill,*
Whom once I woo'd, (and let me woo ye still!)
When, warm with passion and the rural scene,
I sung the blue-ey'd Maid of Stepney Green,
Teach me once more to sing my am'rous pains,
And Blouzelinda's charms in equal strains.
A gipsy hat her auburn hair confin'd,
Save some stray locks that sported in the wind;
And nature, bounteous nature, bade disclose
Her neck the lily, and her cheek the rose.
Long has the maid my youthful bosom fir'd,
Her beauty long my simple lay inspir'd ;
I saw her charms unfolding ev'ry hour,
Fair was the bud, but fairer is the flower!
+As lately at the river's brink I stood, In meditation deep, at Hornsey Wood,
Nymphæ, noster amor, Libethrides, aut mihi carmen,
Quale meo Crodo, &c. &c.
+ Nec sum adeò informis: nupèr me in littore vidi,
Cum placidum ventis staret mare. Non ego Daphnin,
Judice te, metuam, si nunquam fallat imago.
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