HAPPY the man, whom bounteous gods allow
With his own hands paternal grounds to plough!
Like the first golden mortals happy, he,
From bufinefs and the cares of money free!
No human ftorms break off at land his fleep;
No loud alarms of nature, on the deep :
From all the cheats of law he lives fecure,
Nor does th' affronts of palaces endure.
Sometimes, the beauteous, marriageable vine
He to the lufty bridegroom elm does join ;
Sometimes he lops the barren trees around,
And grafts new life into the fruitful wound;
Sometimes he hears his flock, and fometimes he
Stores up the golden treafures of the bee.
He fees his lowing herds walk o'er the plain,
Whilft neighbouring hills lowe back to them again;
And, when the feafon, rich as well as gay,
All her autumnal bounty does display,
How is he pleas'd th' increasing use to see
Of his well-trufted labours bend the tree!
Of which large shares, on the glad facred days,
He gives to friends, and to the gods repays.
With how much joy does he, beneath some shade
By aged trees' reverend embraces made,
His careless head on the fresh green recline,
His head uncharg'd with fear or with design.
By him a river constantly complains,
The birds above rejoice with various strains,
And in the folemn fcene their orgies keep,
Like dreams, mix'd with the gravity of sleep ;
Sleep, which does always there for entrance wait,
And nought within against it shuts the gate.
Nor does the roughest season of the sky,
Or fullen Jove, all sports to him deny.
He runs the mazes of the nimble hare,
His well-mouth'd dogs' glad concert rends the air;
Or with game bolder, and rewarded more,
He drives into a toil the foaming boar;
Here flies the hawk t' affault, and there the net
To intercept, the travailing fowl, is fet;
And all his malice, all his craft, is shown
In innocent wars on beasts and birds alone.
This is the life from all misfortunes free,
From thee, the great one, tyrant Love, from thee;
And, if a chafte and clean, though homely, wife
Be added to the bleffings of this life,-
Such as the ancient fun-burnt Sabins were,
Such as Apulia, frugal still, does bear,—
Who makes her children and the house her care,
And joyfully the work of life does share,
Nor thinks herfelf too noble or too fine
To pin the sheepfold or to milch the kine,
Who waits at door against her husband come
From rural duties, late and wearied, home,
Where he receives him with a kind embrace,
A chearful fire, and a more chearful face;
And fills the bowl up to her homely lord,
And with domestic plenty loads the board;
Not all the luftful fhell-fish of the fea,
Drefs'd by the wanton hand of luxury,
Nor ortolans, nor godwits, nor the reft
Of costly names that glorify a feast,
Are at the princely tables better chear,]
Than lamb and kid, lettuce and olives, here.
A Paraphrafe upon HORACE, Book II. Sat. vi.
AT the large foot of a fair hollow tree,
Clofe to plough'd ground, feated commodiously,
His ancient and hereditary house,
There dwelt a good substantial country mouse ;
Frugal, and grave, and careful of the main,
Yet one who once did nobly entertain
A city moufe, well-coated, fleek, and gay,
A mouse of high degree, which loft his way,
Wantonly walking forth to take the air,
And arriv'd early, and belighted, there,
For a day's lodging: the good hearty host
(The antient plenty of his hall to boast)
Did all the stores produce, that might excite,
With various tastes, the courtier's appetite.
Fitches and beans, peafon and oats, and wheat,
And a large chefnut, the delicious meat
Which Jove himself, were he a mouse, would eat.
And, for a baut gouft, there was mixt with these
The fwerd of bacon, and the coat of cheefe:
The precious reliques which, at harvest, he
Had gather'd from the reaper's luxury.
Freely (faid he) fall on, and never spare,
The bounteous gods will for to-morrow care.
And thus at eafe, on beds of straw, they lay,
And to their genius facrific'd the day:
Yet the nice gueft's Epicurean mind,
(Though breeding made him civil seem and kind)
Defpis'd this country feaft; and ftill his thought
Upon the cakes and pies of London wrought.
Your bounty and civility (faid he),
Which I'm furpriz'd in these rude parts to fee,
Shews that the gods have given you a mind
Too noble for the fate which here you find.
Why should a foul, fo virtuous and fo great,
Lofe itfelf thus in an obfcure retreat?
Let favage beafts lodge in a country den;
You should fee towns, and manners know, and men; And taste the generous luxury of the court,
Wher call the mice of quality refort
Where thoufand beauteous fhes about you move,
And, by high fare, are pliant made to love.
We all, ere long, muft render up our breath;
No cave or hole can fhelter us from death.
Since life is fo uncertain, and so short,
Let's spend it all in feafting and in sport.
Come, worthy fir, come with me and partake
All the great things that mortals happy make.
Alas! what virtue hath fufficient arms
T'oppose bright honour, and foft pleasure's charms :
What wisdom can their magic force repel ?
It draws this reverend hermit from his cell.
It was the time, when witty poets tell,
"That Phoebus into Thetis' bofom fell :
"She blush'd at first, and then put out the light,
"And drew the modeft curtains of the night."
Plainly the truth to tell, the fun was fet,
When to the town our wearied travellers get:
To a lord's houfe, as lordly as can be,
Made for the ufe of pride and luxury,
They come e; the gentle courtier at the door
Stops, and will hardly enter in before;
But 'tis, fir, your command, and being fo,
I'm fworn t' obedience; and fo in they go.
Behind a hanging, in a spacious room
(The richest work of Mortclake's noble loom)
They wait a while, their wearied limbs to rest,
Till filence fhould invite them to their feast.
"About the hour that Cynthia's filver light
"Had touch'd the pale meridies of the night;"
At last, the various fupper being done,
It happen'd that the company was gone
Into a room remote, fervants and all,
To please their noble fancies with a ball.
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