And you may then revolve what tales I told you,
Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war;
That fervice is not fervice, fo being done,.
But being fo allow'd. To apprehend thus,
Draws us a profit from all things we fee:
And often, to our comfort, fhall we find
The fharded beetle in a fafer hold,
Than is the full-wing'd eagle.
Oh, this life,.
Is nobler than attending for a check;
Richer, than doing nothing for a bauble;
Prouder, than ruftling in unpaid-for filk:
Such gain the cap of him, that makes them fine,
Yet keeps his book uncrofs'd; no life to ours.
2. Out of your proof you fpeak; we, poor, unfledg'd,
Have never wing'd from view o'th' neft; nor know,
What air's from home. Hap'ly, this life is beft,
If quiet life is beft; fweeter to you,
That have a fharper known: Well correfponding
With your ftiff age; but unto us, it is
A cell of ign'rance; travelling a-bed,
A prifon, for a debtor that not dares
To ftride a limit.
3. What should we speak of,
When we are old as you? When we shall hear
The rain and wind beat dark December? How,
In this our pinching cave, fhall we discourse
The freezing hours away? We have feen nothing.
We're beaftly; fubtle as the fox for prey;
Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat :
Our valour is to chafe what flies; our cage
We make a choir, as doth the prifon'd bird,
And fing our bondage freely.
Did you but know the city's ufuries,
And felt them knowingly; the art o'th' court,
As hard to leave, as keep; whofe top to climb,.
Is certain falling; or fo flipp'ry, that
The fear's as bad as falling.
This is a beautiful life now, privacy,
The sweetness and the benefit of effence:
I fee there is no man but may make his paradice,
And it is nothing but his love and dotage
Upon the world's foul joys that keeps him out on't;
For he that lives retir'd in mind and fpirit
Is ftill in paradice; and has his innocence
Partly allow'd for his companion too,
As much as ftands with juftice: Here no eyes
Shoot their fharp pointed fcorns
upon my fhame:
They know no terms of reputation here,
No punctual limits, or precife dimenfions:
Plain down-right honefty, is all the beauty
And elegancy of life, found amongst fhepherds;
For knowing nothing nicely, or defiring it,
Quits many a vexation from the mind,
With which our quainter knowledge doth abufe us.
The name of envy is a stranger here,
That dries mens bloods abroad, robs health and reft ; Why here's no fuch fury thought on, no, nor falfhood, 'That brotherly disease, fellow-like devil,
That plays within our bofom, and betrays us.
Beaumont and Fletcher's Nice Valour. Live among hinds, and thick skinn'd fellows! that Make faces, and will hop a furlong back, To find the other leg they threw away
To fhew their reverences! with things that squat When they should make a courtesy! To court madam, And live not thus for fhame
Endure again the country converfation,
To be the lady of fix fhires! the men
So near the primitive making, they retain
A fente of nothing but the earth; their brains
And barren heads standing as much in want
Of ploughing as their ground; To hear a fellow
Make himself merry, and his horfe, with whistling
Sellinger's
Sellinger's round; to obferve with what folemnity They keep their wakes, and throw for pewter candlefticks;
How they become the morris, with whose bells
They ring all into Whitfon ales, and sweat
Through twenty fcarfs and napkins, till the hobby
Tire, and the maid Marrian diffolv'd into a gelly,
Shirley's Lady of Pleasure.
Bred in the various pleasures of the city,
Would for your fakes turn beafts and graze i'th' country; We cannot milk, make wholesome cheese, nor butter, And fell it at next market, and lay up,
Out of the precious income, as much coin
In thread-bare groats, mill'd fix
As will fuffice to find the house in candles
And foap a twelve month after.
Spin our own fmocks out of the flax, which grows
Behind your dove-house; no, nor card the wool
Muft make us petticoats; things, to fay truth,
Not worth the taking up.
We can enjoy there, is each day to walk.
To the next farmer's wife; whofe whole difcourfe
Is what price barley bears, or how her husband
Sold his laft yoke of oxen: Other meetings
We cannot have, except it be at church-ales,.
When the sweet bag-pipe does draw forth the
Damfels to frisk about the may-poles, or at
Weddings, where the best cheer is, wholesome :
Stew'd broth made of legs of pork and turnips.
Yes, at chrift'nings, where the good
Wives, instead of burnt wine and comfits,
Drink healths to the mem'ry of all christian fouls
In ale, fcarce three hours old: Eat cakes more tough
Than glue or farthing ginger bread: Then talk
Of the laft blazing ftar, or fome new monfter:
Then drink, and cry, heav'n blefs us from the Spaniards.
While the learn'd vicar's wife expounds the ballad
Of 'twas a lady's daughter in Paris, properly,
And fo breaks up the wife affembly.
Glapthorn's Wit in a Conflable.
None can defcribe the fweets of country life,
But those bleft men that do enjoy and taste them.
Plain husbandmen, tho' far below our pitch
Of fortune plac'd, enjoy a wealth above us:
To whom the earth with true and bounteous justice
Free from war's cares returns an eafy food.
They breathe the fresh and uncorrupted air,
And by clear brooks enjoy untroubled fleeps.
Their ftate is fearlefs and fecure, enrich'd
With fev'ral bleffings, fuch as greatest kings
Might in true juftice envy, and themfelves
Would count too happy, if they truly knew them.
2. 'Tis true, Crifpinus, greatest monarchs oft
Have in the midst of all their careful glories
Defir'd fuch lives as thofe plain people lead.
1. Let us enjoy that happiness then, Lucius,
The country fports and recreations,
And friends as innocent as we, with whom
We need not fear the ftrength of richest wine
In drawing out our fecrets: But, well fill'd,
At fupper time, may hold a free discourse
Of Cafar's weaknefs; of the wealth and pride
Of his freedmen; how lordly Pallas rules;
How fierce and cruel Agrippina is;
What flaves the Roman fenate are become;
And yet next morn awake with confidence.
COUNTRY 'SQUIRE. 1. What a fine man hath your taylor made you ? 2. 'Tis quite contrary,
I have made my taylor, for my cloaths are paid for,
As foon as put on; a fin your man of title
Is feldom guilty of: but heav'n forgive it,
I've other faults too, very incident
To a plain gentleman. I eat my venison
With my neighbours in the country, and prefent not
My pheasants, patridges, and growfe to th' uf'rer,
Nor ever yet paid brokage to his fcrivener.
I flatter not my mercer's wife, nor feast her
With the first cherries, or peafcods, to prepare me
Credit with her husband when I come to London.
The wool of my fheep, or a fcore or two of fat oxen
In Smithfield, give me money for my expences.
I can make a wife a jointure of fuch lands too,
As are not encumber'd, no annuity
Or ftatute lying on them.
Malfinger's City Madam.
You're a country gentleman; a gallant
Out of fashion all the year; but fpecially
At feffions, and upon high holidays, when
Your fattin doublet draws away the eyes
Of the fimple, and distracts their devotion
Almost into idolatry: Giving it more
Worship than the heralds ever gave
Your ancestors. You intend, as I understand,
To come forth in a new edition; and
When the mercers and taylors have new printed
You, and that fome genteel wit may be read
In your character, to marry a wife
In the city. You shall then have a pass
Seal'd upon her by a courtier; be shipp'd
At cuckold's haven, and fo transported.
Nabbs's Covent-Garden.
They fay he's one, was wife before he was
A man, for then his folly was excufable;
But fince he came to be of age, which had
Been a question till his death, had not
The law given him his father's lands; he is
Grown wicked enough to be a landlord.
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