Our children's children shall our steps pursue,
And the fame errors be for ever new!
Meanwhile, in hope a guiltless country swain,
My reed with warblings chears th' imagin'd plain.
Hail, humble shades, where truth and filence dwell!
Thou, noisy town, and faithless court, farewel!
Farewel ambition, once my darling flame!
The thirst of lucre, and the charm of fame !
In life's bye-road, that winds thro' paths unknown,
My days, tho' number'd, shall be all my own!
Here shall they end (O might they twice begin!)
And all be white the fates intend to spin.
Vos fapere et folos aio bene vivere, quorum,
Confpicitur nitidis fundata pecunia villis.
HE wealthy cit, grown old in trade,
Now wishes for the rural shade,
And buckles to his one-horse chair
Old Dobbin, or the founder'd mare;
While wedg'd in closely by his fide,
Sits Madam, his unwieldy bride,
With Jacky on a stool before 'em,
And out they jog in due decorum.
Scarce past the turnpike half a mile,
How all the country feems to smile!"
And as they flowly jog together,
The cit commends the road and weather;
While Madam doats upon the trees,
And longs for ev'ry house she fees,
Admires it's views, it's situation,
And thus she opens her oration.
• What signifies the loads of wealth, • Without that richest jewel, health? • Excuse the fondness of a wife,
• Who doats upon your precious life!
• Such easeless toil, such constant care,
• Is more than human strength can bear:
• One may observe it in your face-
• Indeed, my dear, you break apace;
• And nothing can your health repair,
• But exercife, and country air.
• Sir Traffick has a house, you know,
• About a mile from Cheney Row:
• He's a good man, indeed, 'tis true,
• But not so warm, my dear, as you';
• And folks are always apt to sneer-
• One would not be out-done, my dear!"
Sir Traffick's name so well apply'd,
Awak'd his brother merchant's pride:
And Thrifty, who had all his life
Paid utmost deference to his wife,
Confefs'd her arguments had reason;
And by th' approaching summer season,
Draws a few hundreds from the stocks,
And purchases his Country-box.
Some three or four miles out of town,
(An hour's ride will bring you down)
He fixes on his choice abode,
Not half a furlong from the road;
And so convenient does it lay,
The stages pass it ev'ry day :
And then so snug, so mighty pretty,
To have a house so near the city!
Take but your places at the Boar,
You're fet down at the very door.
Well then, suppose them fix'd at last, White-washing, painting, scrubbing past; Hugging themselves in ease and clover, With all the fuss of moving over;
Lo, a new heap of whims are bred,
And wanton in my lady's head !
• Well; to be sure, it must be own'd,
• It is a charming spot of ground:
So sweet a distance for a ride,
• And all about so countrify'd!
* 'Twould come to but a trifling price
• To make it quite a paradife !
• I cannot bear those nasty rails,
* Those ugly, broken, mouldy pales :
Suppose, my dear, instead of these,.
• We build a railing all Chinese; • Altho' one hates to be expos'd, 'Tis difmal to be thus enclos'd: • One hardly any object fees
• I wish you'd fell those odious trees. • Objects continual passing by,
• Were something to amuse the eye;
But to be pent within the walls,
• One might as well be at St. Paul's.
Our house, beholders would adore,
• Was there a level lawn before,
"That's Sir. Thrifty's country-feat!"
No doubt her arguments prevail,
For Madam's TASTE can never fail.
Bless'd age! when all men may procure
The title of a connoiffeur;
When noble and ignoble herd
Are govern'd by a single word;
Tho', like the royal German dames,
It bears an hundred Christian names-
As Genius, Fancy, Judgment, Goût,
Whim, Caprice, Je ne sçai quoi, Virtù :
Which appellations all describe
TASTE, and the modern tasteful tribe.
Now bricklay'rs, carpenters, and joiners,
With Chinese artists and designers,
Produce their schemes of alteration,
To work this wond'rous reformation,
The useful dome, which fecret stood,
Embosom'd in the yew-tree's wood,
The traveller with amazement sees
A temple Gothick or Chinese,
With many a bell and tawdry rag on,
And crested with a sprawling dragon;
A wooden arch is bent aftride
A ditch of water, four feet wide,
With angles, curves, and zigzag lines,
From Halfpenny's exact designs:
In front, a level lawn is seen,
Without a shrub upon the green;
Where Taste would want it's first great law,
But for the skulking, fly ha-ha;
By whose miraculous assistance
You gain a profspect two fields distance.
And now from Hyde-Park-Corner come
The gods of Athens and of Rome.
Here squabby Cupids take their places,
With Venus, and the clumsy Graces;
Apollo there, with aim so clever,
Stretches his leaden bow for ever;
And there, without the pow'r to fly,
Stande fix'd a tip-toe Mercury.
The villa thus compleatly grac'd;
All own, that Thrifty has a taste;
And Madam's female friends and coufins,
With common-council-men, by dozens,
Flock ev'ry Sunday to the feat,
To stare about them, and to eat.
THE HOUSE OF SUPERSTITION.
WHEN Sleep's all-foothing hand, with fetters soft,
down each sense, and lulls to balmy rest,
'Th' internal pow'r, creative Fancy, oft
Broods o'er her treasures in the formful breast.
Thus, when no longer daily cares engage,
The busy mind pursues the darling theme;
Hence angels whisper'd to the slumb'ring sage,
And gods of old inspir'd the hero's dream :
Hence, as I fslept, these images arose
To Fancy's eye; and join'd, this fairy scene compose.
As, when fair morning dries her pearly tears,
The mountain lifts o'er mists it's lofty head;
Thus, new to fight, a Gothick dome appears
With the grey ruft of rolling years o'erspread..
Here Superftition holds her dreary reign,
And her lip-labour'd orisons she plies
In tongue unknown, when morn bedews the plain,
Or ev'ning skirts with gold the western skies;
To the dumb stock she bends, or sculptur'd wall,
And many a cross she makes, and many a bead lets fall.
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