Imatges de pàgina
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They poor, I rich; they beg, I give;
They lack, I lend; they pine, I live.
I laugh not at another's lofs,

I grudge not at another's gain;
No worldly wave my mind can toss:
I brook that is another's bane.
I fear no foe, nor fawn no friend;
I loath not life, nor dread mine end.
My wealth is health, and perfect ease;
My confcience clear, my chief defence:
I never feck by bribes to please,

Nor by defert to give offence:
Thus do I live, thus will I die;
Would all did fo as well as I!
I take no joy in earthly blifs;

I weigh not Crafus' wealth a straw; For care, I care not what it is;,

I fear not Fortune's fatal law. My mind is fuch as may not move For beauty bright, or force of love. I with but what I have at will;

I wander not to feck for more;
I like the plain, I climb no hill;

In greatest ftorms I fit on fhore,
And laugh at them that toil in vain
To get what must be loft again.
I kifs not where I wish to kill;
I feign not love where moft I hate
I break no fleep to win my will;

;

I wait not at the mighty's gate; I fcorn no poor, I fear no rich; I feel no want, nor have too much. The court, ne cart, I like ne loath Extremes are counted work of all; The golden mean betwixt them both Doth fureft fit, and fears no fall; This is my choice; for why? I find No wealth is like a quiet mind.

§ 41. Song. Countess of WINCHELSEA. WOULD we attain the happiest state That is defign'd us here;

No joy a rapture must create,
No grief beget despair.

No injury fierce anger raife,

No honour tempt to pride:

No vain defires of empty praise
Muft in the foul abide.

No charms of youth or beauty move
The conftant fettled breaft:
Who leaves a paffage free to love,

Shall let in all the reft.

In fuch a heart foft peace will live,
Where none of thefe abound;
The greatest bleffing Heaven does give,
Or can on earth be found.

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A healthy, clean, paternal feat,
Well fhaded from the fummer's heat.
A little parlour ftove, to hold

A conftant fire from winter's cold,
Where you may fit, and think, and fing,
Far off from court, God bless the king!
Safe from the harpies of the law,
From party-rage, and great man's paw;
Have choice few friends of your own tafte;
A wife agreeable and chaste.

An open, but yet cautious mind,
Where guilty cares no entrance find;
Nor mifer's fears, nor envy's fpite,
To break the fabbath of the night.
Plain equipage, and temp'rate meals,
Few taylors', and no doctors' bills;
Content to take, as Heaven fhall please,
A longer or a fhorter leafe.

§ 43. Song.

Mrs. PILKINGTON.

ENVY not the proud their wealth,
Their equipage and state:
Give me but innocence and health,
I ask not to be great.

I in this fweet retirement find
A joy unknown to kings,
For fceptres to a virtuous mind
Seem vain and empty things.
Great Cincinnatus at his plow
With brighter luftre fhone,
Than guilty Cæfar e'er could show,
Though feated on a throne.
Tumultuous days and reftlefs nights
Ambition ever knows,

A ftranger to the calm delights
Of study and repofe.

Then free from envy, care, and ftrife,
Keep me, ye pow'rs divine!
And, pleas'd when ye demand my life,
May I that life refign!

§ 44.

Song. The Character of a bappy Lib,
Sir HENRY WOTION.

HOW happy is he born and taught,

That ferveth not another's will;
Whofe armour is his honeft thought,
And fimple truth his utmost skill!
Whofe paffions not his masters are,
Whofe foul is ftill prepar'd for death:
Untied unto the world by care

Of public fame, or private breath!
Who envies none that chance doth raife,
Nor vice hath ever understood;
How deepest wounds are given by praife,
Nor rules of state, but rules of good!
Who hath his life from rumours freed,
Whofe confcience is his ftrong retreat:
Whofe state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppreffors great!

Whe

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No glory I covet, no riches I want,

Ambition is nothing to me;

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The one thing I beg of kind Heaven to grant,
Is a mind independent and free.
With paffions unruffled, untainted with pride,
By reafon my life let me fquare;
The wants of my nature are cheaply fupplied,
And the rest are but folly and care.
The bleffings which providence freely has lent,
I'll justly and gratefully prize;
Whilft fweet meditation, and cheerful content,
Shall make me both healthful and wife.
In the pleasures the great man's poffeffions difplay.
Unenvied I'll challenge my part;
For ev'ry fair object my eyes can furvey
Contributes to gladden my heart.
How vainly, through infinite trouble and ftrife,
The many their labours employ !
Since all that is truly delightful in life
Is what all, if they please, may enjoy.

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§ 48. Song. A Moral Thought.
Dr. HAWKESWORTH,

THRO' groves fequefter'd, dark, and fill,
Low vales, and moify cells among,

In filent paths the carclefs rill
With languid murmurs fteals along.
Awhile it plays with circling fweep,

And ling'ring leaves its native plain;
Then pours impetuous down the steep,
And mingles with the boundlefs main.
O let my years thus devious glide,

Through filent fcenes obfcurely calm;
Nor wealth nor ftrife pollute the tide,
Nor honour's fanguinary palm.
When labour tires, and pleasure palls,

Still let the ftream untroubled be,
As down the fteep of age it falls,
And mingles with eternity.

$49. Song.

FROM the court to the cottage convey me away, For I'm weary of grandeur, and what they call gay:

Where pride without measure,

And pomp without pleasure,

Make life in a circle of hurry decay.

Far remote and retir'd from the noife of the town, I'll exchange my brocade for a plain ruffet gown; My friends fhall be few,

But well chofen and true, And sweet recreation our evening fhall crown. With a rural repaft, a rich banquet for me, On a moffy green turf, near fome fhady old tree, The river's clear brink

Shall afford me my drink,

And Temp'iance my friendly phyfician fhall be. Ever calm and ferene, with contentment ftill bleft Not too giddy with joy, or with forrow depreft, I'll neither invoke

Or repine at death's stroke,

But retire from the world as I would to my reft.

§ 50. Song. The Blind Boy.
COLLEY CIBBER †--
SAY what is that thing call'd light,
Which I muft ne'er enjoy?
What are the bletlings of the fight?

O tell your poor blind boy!
You talk of wondrous things you see,
You fay the fun shines bright;
I feel him warm, but how can he
Or make it day or night?
My day or night myfelf I make,

Whene'er I fleep or play;
And could I ever keep awake
With me 'twere always day.

In the Mafque of Comus.-It feems to be imitated from a paffage in the 17th book of Taffo's Jerufalem.

+ Written for, and set by, the late celebrated Mr. Stanley, organist of St. Andrew's, Holborn.

With heavy fighs I often hear You mourn my hapless woe; But fure with patience I can bear A lofs I ne'er can know.

Then let not what I cannot have

My cheer of mind destroy; Whilft thus I fing, I am a king, Although a poor blind boy.

§ 51. Song. HOW happy a ftate does the miller poffefs,

ROBERT Dodsley *.

Who would be no greater, nor fears to be lefs!
On his mill and himfelf he depends for fupport,
Which is better than fervilely cringing at court.
What the' he all dufty and whiten'd does go,
The more he's bepowder'd, the more like a beau;
A clown in this drefs may be honefter far
Than a courtier who ftruts in his garter and ftar.
Tho'his hands are fo daub'd they're not fit to be feen,
The hands of his betters are not very clean:
A palm more polite may as dirtily deal;
Gold, in handling, will stick to the fingers like meal.
What if, when a pudding for dinner he lacks,
He cribs without fcruple from other men's facks;
In this of right noble example he brags,
Who borrow as freely from other men's bags.
Or fhould he endeavour to heap an eftate,
In this he would mimic the tools of the state;
Whofe aim is alone their own coffers to fill,
As all his concern's to bring grift to his mill.
He eats when he's hungry,he drinks when he's dry,
And down when he's weary contented does lie;
Then rifes up cheerful to work and to fing:
If so happy a miller, then who'd be a king ?

$52. Song. The Old Man's Wifh. Dr. POPE.
IF
FI live to grow old, for I find I go down,
Let this be my fate :-In a country town
May I have a warm houfe, with a ftone at the gate,
And a cleanly young girl to rub my bald pate!

May I govern my paffion with an abfolute fway,
And grow wifer and better as my ftrength wears

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$53. Song. Time's Alteration. WHEN this old cap was new, 'Tis fince two hundred year, No malice then we knew, But all things plenty were: All friendship now decays

(Believe me this is true),
Which was not in thofe days
When this old cap was new.
The nobles of our land

Were much delighted then
To have at their command
A crew of lufty men,
Which by their coats were known

Of tawny, red, or blue,
With crefts on their fleeves fhewn,
When this old cap was new.
Now pride hath banish'd all,

Unto cur land's reproach,
When he whofe means is fmall
Maintains both horfe and coach;
Inftead of an hundred men,

The coach allows but two;
This was not thought on then,
When this old cap was new.
Good hofpitality

Was cherish'd then of many; Now poor men ftarve and die,

And are not help'd by any : For charity waxeth cold,

And love is found in few; This was not in time of old,

When this old cap was new. Wherever you travell'd then,

You might meet on the way Brave knights and gentlemen,"

Clad in their country grey,
That courteous would appear,
And kindly welcome you:
No puritans then were,

When this old cap was new.
Our ladies, in thofe days,.
In civil habit went;

With a pudding on Sundays, with ftout humming Broad-cloth was then worth praife,

liquor,

And remnants of Latin to welcome the vicar;
With Monte Fiafcone, or Burgundy wine,
To drink the king's health as oft as I dine.
May I govern, &c.

And gave the best content:
French fashions then were fcorn'd,
Fond fangles then none knew,
Then modefty women adorn`d,
When this old cap was new.
In the entertainment of The Miller of Mansfield.

A man

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A man might then behold,

At Christmas, in each hall,

Good fires to curb the cold,

And meat for great and small:
The neighbours were friendly bidden,
And all had welcome true,

The poor from the gates were not chidden
When this old cap was new.

Black jacks to ev'ry man

Were fill'd with wine and beer,
No pewter pot, nor can,

In thofe days did appear:
Good cheer in a nobleman's house
Was counted a feemly fhow;
We wanted no brawn nor foufe,
When this old cap was new.
We took not fuch delight
In cups of filver fine:
None under degree of a knight
In plate drank beer or wine:
Now each mechanical man

Hath a cupboard of plate for a fhow,
Which was a rare thing then

When this old cap was new.

Then brib'ry was unborn,
No fimony men did ufe;
Chriftians did ufury scorn,
Devis'd among the Jews:
The lawyers to be feed

At that time hardly knew,
For man with man agreed,
When this old cap was new.
No captain then carous'd,

Nor fpent poor foldiers pay,
They were not fo abus'd

As they are at this day;
Of feven days they make eight,
To keep them from their due;
Poor foldiers had their right

When this old cap was new.
Which made them forward ftill
To go, although not preft;
And going with good will,

Their fortunes were the best. Our English then in fight

Did foreign foes fubdue, And forc'd them all to flight, When this old cap was new. God fave our gracious king,

And fend him long to live! Lord, mifchief on them bring, That will not their alms give; But feek to rob the poor

Of that which is their due: This was not in time of yore,

When this old cap was new.

$54. Song. The Vicar of Bray. IN good king Charles's golden days, When loyalty no harm meant, A zealous high-church man I was, And fo I got preferment:

To teach my flock I never mifs'd,
Kings are by God appointed,
And damn'd are thofe that do refift
Or touch the Lord's Anointed.
And this is law I will maintain
Until my dying day, fir-
That whatfoever king fhall reign,
I'll be the vicar of Bray, fir.

When Royal James obtain'd the crown,
And popery came in fashion,
The penal laws I hooted down,

And read the Declaration:

The church of Rome I found would fit Full well my constitution;

And had become a Jefuit,

But for the Revolution.
And this is law, &c.

When William was our king declar'd,
To ease the nation's grievance;
With this new wind about I fteer'd,

And fwore to him allegiance:

Old principles I did revoke,

Set confcience at a distance;
Paffive obedience was a joke,
A jeft was non-refiftance.
And this is law, &c.

When gracious Anne became our queen,
The church of England's glory,
Another face of things was feen,
And I became a tory:

Occafional conformists base,

I damn'd their moderation;

And thought the church in danger was By fuch prevarication.

And this is law, &c.

When George in pudding time came o’er,
And mod'rate men look'd big, fir;

I turn'd a cat-in-pan once more,
And fo became a whig, fir;
And thus preferment I procur'd

From our new faith's defender;
And almoft ev'ry day abjur'd

The pope and the pretender.
And this is law, &c.
Th'illuftrious houfe of Hanover,
And Proteftant fucceffion;
To thefe I do allegiance fwear-
While they can keep poffeffion :
For in my faith and loyalty

I never more will faulter,

And George my lawful king fhall be-
Until the times do alter.

And this is law I will maintain
Until my dying day, fir—
That whatsoever king fhall reign,
I'll be the vicar of Bray, fir.

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From bounding billows, firft in motion,
When the diftant whirlwinds rife,
To the tempeft-troubled ocean,

Where the feas contend with skies!
Hark! the boatfwain hoarfely bawling,

By topfail fheets and haulyards ftand!
Down top-gallants quick be hauling,
Down your ftay-fails, hand, boys, hand!
Now it freshens, fet the braces,

The top-fail fhects now let go;
Luff, boys, luff! don't make wry faces,
Up your topfails nimbly clew."
Now all you on down-beds fporting,
Fondly lock'd in beauty's arms;
Fresh enjoyments wanton courting,
Safe from all but love's alarms;
Round us roars the tempeft louder;
Tok what fears our minds enthral;
Harder yet, it yet blows harder,

Now again the boatswain calls!

The top-fail yards point to the wind, boys,
See all clear to reef each courfe;
Let the fore-fheet go, don't mind, boys,
Though the weather fhould be worse.
Fore and aft the fprit-fail yard get,
Reef the mizen, fee all clear;
Hands up, each preventure brace fet,
Man the fore-yard, cheer, lads, cheer!
Now the dreadful thunder's roaring,
Peal on peal contending clash,
On our heads fierce rain falls pouring,
In our eves blue lightnings flash.
One wide water all around us,

All above us one black sky;
Different deaths at once furround us:

Hark! what means that dreadful cry?

The foremaft's gone, cries ev'ry tongue out,
O'er the lee, twelve fect 'bove deck;
A leak beneath the chest-tree's sprung out,
Call all hands to clear the wreck.
Quick the lanyards cut to pieces;
Come, my hearts, be ftout and bold;
Plumb the well-the leak increases,
Four feet water in the hold.

While o'er the fhip wild waves are beating,
We for wives or children mourn;
Alas! from hence there's no retreating,
Alas! to them there's no return.
Still the leak is gaining on us!
Both chain-pumps are chok'd below:
Heaven have mercy here upon us!
For only that can fave us now.
O'er the lee-beam is the land, boys,
Let the guns o'erboard be thrown;
To the pump come ev'ry hand, toys,
See our mizen-maft is gone.

The leak we've found it cannot pour fast,
We've lighten'd her a foot or more;
Up, and rig a jury foremaft,

She rights, the rights, boys, we're off shore.

Now once more on joys we're thinking,
Since kind Heaven has fav'd our lives;
Come, the can, boys! let's be drinking
To our sweethearts and our wives.
Fill it up, about ship wheel it,

Clofe to our lips a brimmer join:
Where's the tempeft now, who feels it?
None-the danger's drown'd in wine.

$56. Song. Neptune's raging Fury; or the Gallant Seaman's Sufferings.

You gentleman of England

That live at home at eafe,
Ah, little do you think upon
The dangers of the feas;
Give ear unto the mariners,

And they will plainly fhew
[All] the cares, and the fears,
When the ftormy winds do blow.
All you that will be feamen,

Muft bear a valiant heart,
For when you come upon the feas
You must not think to start;
Nor once to be faint-hearted,

In hail, rain, blow, or fnow,
Nor to think for to fhrink

When the ftormy winds do blow. The bitter storms and tempests

Poor feamen do endure,

Both day and night, with many a fright,
We feldom reft fecure;

Our fleep it is disturbed

With vifions ftrange to know, And with dreams on the ftreams, When the stormy winds do blow. In claps of roaring thunder,

Which darknefs doth enforce,
We often find our ship to stray
Beyond our wanted courie:
Which caufeth great distractions,
And finks our hearts full low;
'Tis in vain to complain,

When the ftormy winds do blow.
Sometimes in Neptune's bofom
Our fhip is tolt in waves,
And ev'ry man expecting

The fea to be their graves;
Then up aloft the mounteth,
And down again fo low,
'Tis with waves, O with waves,

When the stormy winds do blow.
Then down again we fall to pray'r,
With all our might and thought,
When refuge all doth fail us,

'Tis that must bear us out;
To God we call for fuccour,
For he it is, we know,
That must aid us, and fave us,
When the stormy winds do blow.
The lawyer and the ufurer,

That fit in gowns of fur,

In closets warm, can take no harm,
Abroad they need not fir;

When

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