Knew ev'ry fecret of his heart;
In truth, we never were apart:
But when the Court became his end,
He turn'd his back upon his friend.
One day I call'd upon his Grace,
Juft as the Duke had got a place:
I thought (but thought amifs, 'tis clear)
I should be welcome to the peer,
Yes, welcome to a man in pow'r;
And fo I was-for half an hour.
But he grew weary of his gueft, And foon difcarded me his breast; Upbraided me for want of merit, But moft for poverty of spirit.
You relish not the great man's lot; Come, haften to my humbler cot. Think me not partial to the great, I'm a iworn foe to pride and state! No monarchs fhare my kind embrace, There's scarce a monarch knows my face: Content fhuns Courts, and oft'ner dwells With modeft worth, in rural cells; There's no complaint tho' brown the bread, Or the rude turf fuftain the head,
Tho' hard the couch, and coarse the meat, Still the brown loaf and fleep are sweet.
Far from the city I refide,
And a thatch'd cottage all my pride.
True to my heart, I feldom roam,
Because I find my joys at home:
For foreign vifits then begin.
When the man feels a void within.
But tho' from towns and crowds I fly,
No humourift, nor Cynic, I.
Amidst fequefter'd fhades I prize
The friendship of the good and wise,
Bid Virtue and her fons attend,
Virtue will tell thee I'm her friend;
Tell thee, I'm faithful, conftant, kind,
And meek, and lowly, and refign'd;
Will fay, there's no diftinction known
Betwixt her household and my own.
Author. If these the friendships you pursue,
Your friends, I fear, are very few.
So little company you say,
Yet fond of home from day to day?
How do you fhun Detraction's rod?
I doubt your neighbours think you old!
Content. I commune with myself at night, And ask myself if all be right:
If " Right," replies my faithful breast,
I fmile, and close my eyes to reft.
Author. You feem regardless of the town: Pray, Sir, how stand you with the gown?
Content. The clergy fay they love me well, Whether they do, they beft can tell : They paint me modeft, friendly, wife, And always praise me to the skies;
But if conviction's at the heart,
Why not a correspondent part?
Nor fall the learned tongue prevail,
If actions preach a diff'rent tale?
Who'll feek my door, or grace my walls,
When neither dean nor prelate calls?
With thofe my friendships must obtain,
Who prize their duty more than gain ;
Soft flow the hours whene'er we meet,
And confcious virtue is our treat;
Our harmless breasts no envy know,
And hence we fear no fecret foe;
Our walks ambition ne'er attends,
And hence we afk no powerful friends;
We wish the beft to Church and State,
But leave the fteerage to the great;
Carclefs who rifes, or who falis,
And never dream of vacant stalls;
Much lefs, by pride or int'reft drawn,
Sigh for the mitre and the lawn.
Obferve the fecrets of my art,
I'll fundamental truths impart :
And if you'll my advice pursue,
I'll quit my hut and dwell with you.
The paffions are a num`rous crowd,
Imperious, pofitive, and loud;
Curb thefe licentious fons of strife,
Hence chiefly rife the storms of life:
If they grow mutinous and rave,
They are thy masters, thou their flave.
Regard the world with cautious eye,
Nor raise your expectation high.
See that the balanc'd fcales be fuch,
You neither fear nor hope too much,
For difappointment's not the thing,
'Tis pride and paffion point the fting.
Life is a fea, where ftorms must rise,
'Tis folly talks of cloudlefs fkies:
He who contracts his fwelling fail,
Eludes the fury of the gale.
Be ftill, nor anxious thoughts employ, Distrust embitters present joy:
On God for all events depend,
You cannot want, when God's your Weigh well your part, and do your best; Leave to your Maker all the rest.
The Hand which form'd thee in the womb,
Guides from the cradle to the tomb.
Can the fond mother flight her boy?
Can fhe forget her prattling joy?
Say then, fhall fov'reign Love defert
The humble and the honeft heart?
Heav'n may not grant thee all thy mind;
Yet fay not thou that Heav'n's unkind.
God is alike, both good and wife,
In what he grants and what denies :
Perhaps, what Goodnefs gives to-day,
To-morrow Goodness takes away.
You fay that troubles intervene, That forrows darken half the scene: True and this confequence you fee, The world was ne'er design'd for thee:
You're like a passenger below,
That ftays perhaps a night or fo;
But ftill his native country lies
Beyond the bound'ries of the skies.
Of Heav'n afk virtue, wifdom, health,
But never let thy pray'r be wealth:
If food be thine, (though little gold)
And raiment to repel the cold;
Such as may nature's wants fuffice,
Not what from pride and folly rife;
If foft the motions of thy foul,
And a calm confcience crowns the whole;
Add but a friend to all this store,
You can't in reason wish for more:
And if kind Heav'n this comfort brings,
Tis more than Heav'n bestows on kings.
He fpake the airy fpectre flies,
And ftrait the fweet illufion dies.
The vifion, at the early dawn,
Confign'd me to the thoughtful morn ;
To all the cares of waking clay,
And inconfiftent dreams of day,
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