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t Who thinks that fortune cannot change her mind, Prepares a dreadful jest for all mankind. 130 And " who stands fafest ? tell me, is it he That spreads and swells in puff’d Prosperity, Or bleft with little, whose preventing care In peace provides fit arms against a war ? v Thus BETHEL spoke, who always speaks his thought,

135 And always thinks the very thing he ought: His equal mind I copy what I can, And as I love, would imitate the Man. In South-sea days not happier, when furmis'd The Lord of Thousands, than if now " Excis'd; 140 In forest planted by a Father's hand, Than in five acres now of rented land. Content with little, I can piddle here On * brocoli and mutton, round the year ; But y ancient friends (tho' poor, or out of play) That touch my bell, I cannot turn away. 'Tis true, no 2 Turbots dignify my boards, But gudgeons, founders, what my Thames affords:

Notes, apology for this liberty, in the preceding line, where he pays a fine compliment to Augufius :

quare Templa ruunt antiqua Deúm ? which oblique Panegyric the Imitator has very properly turned into a jult stroke of satire.

Et nux ornabat mensas, cum duplice ficu.

Poft hoc ludus erat cuppa potare magiftra :

Ac venerata Ceres, ita culmo furgeret alto,

Explicuit vino contractae seria frontis.

Saeviat atque novos moveat Fortuna tumultus !

Quantum hinc imminuet? quanto aut ego parcius,

aut vos,

O pueri, nituiftis, ut huc e novus incola venit?


Ver. 156. And, what's more rare, a Poet hall say Grace.] The pleasantry of this line confifts in the supposed rarity of a Poet's having a table of his own; or a sense of gratitude for the bleffings he receives. But it contains,


To Hounslow-heath I point and Banfted-down, Thence comes your mutton, and these chicks my

150 • From yon old walnut-tree a show'r shall fall; And grapes, long lingring on my only wall, And figs from standard and espalier join ; The dev'l is in you if you cannot dine: Then chearful healths (your Mifress shall have place) And, what's more rare, a Poet shall say Grace. 156

Fortune not much of humbling me can boast; Tho' double tax’d, how little have I loft? My Life's amusements have been juft the fame, Before, and after Standing Armies came. 160 My lands are sold, my father's house is gone ; I'll hire another's; is not that my own, And yours, my friends? thro' whose free-opening gate None comes too early, none departs too late ; (For I, who hold fage Homer's rule the best,

165 Welcome the coming, speed the going guest.) “ Pray heav'n it last! (cries SWIFT !) as you go on; " I wish to God this house had been your own: “ Pity! to build, without a son or wife: “ Why, you'll enjoy it only all your life.” 170 Well, if the use be mine, can it concern one, Whether the name belong to Pope or Vernon?

Notes. too, a sober reproof of People of Condition, for their unmanly and brutal disuse of io nacural a duty.

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Nam & propriae telluris herum natura neque illum,

Nec me, nec quemquam ftatuit. nos expulit ille;

Illum aut nequities aut' vafri inscitia juris,

Poftremum expellet certe vivacior beres.

+ Nunc ager Umbreni fub nomine, nuper Ofelli

Dictus erat: nulli proprius; fed cedit in ufum

Nunc mihi, nunc alii. quocirca vivite fortes,

Fortiaque adverfis opponite pectora rebus.

Notes. Ver, 183. proud Buckingham's etc.] Villers Duke of Buckingham, 'P.

VER. 185. Let lands and houses etc.) The turn of his

What's « Property ? dear Swift ! you see it alter
From you to me, from me to e Peter Walter ;
Or, in a mortgage, prove a Lawyer's share ; 175
Or, in a jointure, vanish from the heir ;
Or in pure f equity (the case not clear)
The Chanc'ry takes your rents for twenty year:
At beft, it falls to some ungracious son,
Who cries, “ My father's damn'd, and all's my own.

Shades, that to BACON could retreat afford, 181
Become the portion of a booby Lord;
And Hemsley, once proud Buckingham's delight,
Slides to a Scriv'ner or a city Knight.

Let lands and houses have what Lords they will, Let Us be fix'd, and our own masters still.

Notes. imitation, in the concluding part, obliged him to diverfify the sentiment. They are equally noble: but Horace's is expreffed with the greater force.

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