As for his works and verse and prose I own myself no judge of those;
Nor can I tell what critics thought 'em:
But this I know, all people bought 'em. As with a moral view designed
To cure the vices of mankind: His vein, ironically grave,
Exposed the fool, and lashed the knave. To steal a hint was never known, But what he writ was all his own.
"He never thought an honour done him, Because a duke was proud to own him:
Would rather slip aside and choose To talk with wits in dirty shoes;
Despised the fools with stars and garters, So often seen caressing Chartres. He never courted men in station, Nor persons held in admiration; Of no man's greatness was afraid, Because he sought for no man's aid. Though trusted long in state affairs, He gave himself no haughty airs: Without regarding private ends, Spent all his credit on his friends; And only chose the wise and good; No flatterers; no allies in blood:
But succoured virtue in distress, And seldom failed of good success;
As numbers in their hearts must own,
Who, but for him, had been unknown.
"Perhaps I may allow the Dean Had too much satire in his vein;
And seemed determined not to starve it, Because no age could more deserve it. Yet malice never was his aim;
He lashed the vice, but spared the name; No individual could resent,
Where thousands equally were meant; His satire points at no defect, But what all mortals may correct; For he abhorred that senseless tribe Who call it humour when they gibe: He spared a hump, or crooked nose, Whose owners set not up for beaux. True genuine dulness moved his pity, Unless it offered to be witty. Those who their ignorance confessed, He ne'er offended with a jest; But laughed to hear an idiot quote A verse from Horace learned by rote. "He knew a hundred pleasing stories, With all the turns of Whigs and Tories: Was cheerful to his dying day;
And friends would let him have his way.
"He gave the little wealth he had
To build a house for fools and mad; And showed by one satiric touch, No nation wanted it so much. That kingdom he had left his debtor, I wish it soon may have a better."
IF Heaven the grateful liberty would give, That I might choose my method how to live; And all those hours propitious Fate should lend, In blissful ease and satisfaction spend;
Near some fair town I'd have a private seat,
Built uniform, not little, nor too great:
Better, if on a rising ground it stood;
On this side fields, on that a neighbouring wood.
It should within no other things contain,
But what are useful, necessary, plain:
Methinks 'tis nauseous; and I'd ne'er endure
The needless pomp of gaudy furniture.
A little garden, grateful to the eye;
And a cool rivulet run murmuring by: On whose delicious banks a stately row Of shady limes, or sycamores, should grow. At th' end of which a silent study placed, Should be with all the noblest authors graced : Horace and Virgil, in whose mighty lines Immortal wit, and solid learning, shines;
Sharp Juvenal and amorous Ovid too,
Who all the turns of love's soft passion knew: He that with judgment reads his charming lines, In which strong art with stronger nature joins, Must grant his fancy does the best excel; His thoughts so tender, and expressed so well: With all those moderns, men of steady sense, Esteemed for learning, and for eloquence. In some of these, as Fancy would advise, I'd always take my morning exercise: For sure no minutes bring us more content, Than those in pleasing useful studies spent.
I'd have a clear and competent estate, That I might live genteelly, but not great: As much as I could moderately spend; A little more, sometimes t' oblige a friend. Nor should the sons of Poverty repine
Too much at Fortune, they should taste of mine; And all that objects of true pity were,
Should be relieved with what my wants could spare; 40 For that our Maker has too largely given, Should be returned in gratitude to Heaven. A frugal plenty should my table spread; With healthy, not luxurious, dishes spread: Enough to satisfy, and something more,
To feed the stranger, and the neighbouring poor. Strong meat indulges vice, and pampering food Creates diseases, and inflames the blood.
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