$43. Song.

My mind to me a kingdom is;
Such perfect joy therein I find,
As far exceeds all earthly bliss,

That God or nature hath assign'd:
Though much I want that most would have,
Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

Content I live, this is my stay;

I seek no more than may suffice: I press to bear no haughty sway;

Look what I lack my mind supplies. Lo! thus I triumph like a king, Content with that my mind doth bring. I see how plenty surfeits oft,

And hasty climbers soonest fall: I see that such as sit aloft

Mishap doth threaten most of all:
These get with toil, and keep with fear:
Such cares my mind could never bear.

No princely pomp, nor wealthy store,
No force to win a victory,
No wily wit to salve a sore,

No shape to win a lover's eye:
To none of these I yield as thrall,
For why? my mind despiseth all.

Some have too much, yet still they crave;
I little have, yet seek no more:

They are but poor, though much they have;
And I am rich with little store:
They poor, I rich; they beg, I give;
They lack, I lend; they pine, I live.
I laugh not at another's loss,

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 loathe not life, nor dread mine end.

My wealth is health, and perfect ease:
My conscience clear my chief defence:
I never seek by bribes to please,

Nor by desert to give offence :
Thus do I live, thus will I die;
Would all did so as well as I !

I take no joy in earthly bliss ;

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

I fear not Fortune's fatal law.
My mind is such as may not move
For beauty bright, or force of love.

I wish but what I have at will;
I wander not to seek for more;
I like the plain, I climb no hill;

In greatest storms I sit on shore,
And laugh at them that toil in vain
To get what must be lost again.
I kiss not where I wish to kill;

I feign not love where most I hate;
I break no sleep to win my will;

I wait not at the mighty's gate;
I scorn no poor, I fear no rich;
I feel no want, nor have too much.

The court ne cart, I like ne loathe: Extremes are counted worst of all: The golden mean betwixt them both

Doth surest sit, and fears no fall; This is my choice; for why? I find No wealth is like a quiet mind.

WOULD we attain the happier state
That is design'd us here;
No joy a rapture must create,
No grief beget despair :

No injury fierce anger raise,

No honor tempt to pride:
No vain desires of empty praise
Must in the soul abide :

No charms of youth or beauty move
The constant, settled breast:
Who leaves a passage free to love

Shall let in ail the rest.

In such a heart soft peace will live,
Where none of these abound;
The greatest blessing Heaven does give,
Or can on earth be found.

§ 45. Song. BEDINGFIELD. To hug yourself in perfect ease, What would wish for more than these? you A healthy, clean, paternal seat, Well shaded from the summer's heat :

A little parlour-stove, to hold
A constant fire from winter's cold,
you may sit and think, and sing,
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 taste;
A wife agreeable and chaste :

An open, but yet cautious mind,
Where guilty cares no entrance find;
Nor miser's fears, nor envy's spite,
To break the sabbath of the night:

Plain equipage, and temp'rate meals,
Few tailors', and no doctors' bills;
Content to take, as Heaven shall please,
A longer or a shorter lease.

I 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 sweet retirement find
A joy unknown to kings,
For sceptres to a virtuous mind
Seem vain and empty things.

Great Cincinnatus at his plough
With brighter lustre shone,
Than guilty Cæsar e'er could show,
Though seated on a throne.

Tumultuous joys and restless nights
Ambition ever knows,

A stranger to the calm delights
Of study and repose.

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

His flocks, his pipe, and artless fair, Are all his hope, and all his care

$ 49 Song.

No glory I covet, no riches I want,
Ambition is nothing to me ;
The one thing I beg of kind Heaven to grant,
Is a mind independent and free.

With passions unruffled, untainted with pride,
By reason my life let me square;

The wants of my nature are cheaply supplied,
And the rest are but folly and care.

$47. Song. The Character of a happy Life. The blessings which Providence freely has lent,


How happy is he born and taught,

That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill; Whose passions not his masters are, Whose soul is still prepar'd for death: Untied unto the world by care

Of public fame, or private breath! Who envies none that chance doth raise, Nor vice hath ever understood; How deepest wounds are giv'n by praise, Nor rules of state, but rules of good! Who hath his life from rumors freed, Whose conscience is his strong retreat; Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make oppressors great! Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend; And entertains the harmless day With a religious book or friend! This man is freed from servile hands, Of hope to rise, or fear to fall: Lord of himself, though not of lands, And having nothing, yet hath all.

§ 48. Song. HILDEBRAND JACOB, Esq.

I ENVY not the mighty great,
Those pow'rful rulers of the state,
Vho settle nations as they please,
And govern at th' expense of ease.
Far happier the shepherd swain,
Who daily drudges on the plain,
And nightly in some humble shed
On rushy pillows lays his head.

No curst ambition breaks his rest,
No factious wars divide his breast;

I'll justly and gratefully prize;

Whilst sweet meditation, and cheerful content, Shall make me both healthful and wise.

In the pleasures the great man's possessions display,

Unenvied I'll challenge my part;
For ev'ry fair object my eyes can survey
Contributes to gladden my heart.

How vainly, through infinite trouble and strife,
The many their labors employ!
Since all that is truly delightful in life
Is what all, if they please, may enjoy.

$ 50. Song. DR. DARLTON *.
NOR on beds of fading flow'rs,
Shedding soon their gaudy pride,
Nor with swains in syren bow'rs,
Will true pleasure long reside.

On awful virtue's hill sublime

Enthroned sits th' immortal fair:
Who wins her height must patient climb;
The steps are peril, toil, and care.

So from the first did Jove ordain
Eternal bliss for transient pain.

§ 51. Song. A Moral Thought. DR. HAWKESWORTH.

THROUGH groves sequester'd, dark, and still,
Low vales, and mossy cells among,
In silent paths the careless rill

With languid murmurs steals along.
A while it plays with circling sweep,
And ling ring leaves its native plain ;
Then pours impetuous down the steep,
And mingles with the boundless main.

In the Masque of Comus. It seems to be imitated from a passage in the 17th book of Tasso's Jerusalem.

O let my years thus devious glide Through silent scenes obscurely calm; Nor wealth nor strife pollute the tide,

Nor honor's sanguinary palm. When labor tires, and pleasure palls, Still let the stream untroubled be, As down the steep of age it falls, And mingles with eternity.

§ 52. 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 noise of the town,
I'll exchange my brocade for a plain russet gown:
My friends shall be few,
But well chosen and true,

And sweet recreation our evening shall crown.
With a rural repast, a rich banquet for me,
On a mossy green turf, near some shady old tree,
The river's clear brink

Shall afford me my drink,

And temp'rance my friendly physician shall be.

Ever calm and serene, with contentment still blest,

Not too giddy with joy, or with sorrow deprest, I'll neither invoke,

Or repine at death's stroke,

§ 54. Song, ROBERT DODSLEY†. How happy a state does the miller possess, Who would be no greater, nor fears to be less! On his mill and himself he depends for support, Which is better than servilely cringing at court.

What though he all dusty and whiten'd does go,
The more he's be-powder'd, the more like a beau:
A clown in his dress may be honester far
Than a courtier who struts in his garter and star.

Though his hands are so daub'd they're not fit to be seen,

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

What if, when a pudding for dinner he lacks,
He cribs without scruple from other men's sacks;
In this of right noble example he brags,
Who borrow as freely from other men's bags.
Or should he endeavour to heap an estate,
In this he would mimic the tools of the state;
Whose aim is alone their own coffers to fill,
As all his concern's to bring grist to his mill.
He eats when he's hungry, he drinks when he's

And down, when he's weary, contented does lie;
Then rises up cheerful to work and to sing:
If so happy a miller, then who'd be a king?

$55. Song. The Old Man's Wish. DR. POPE.

But retire from the world as I would to my rest. If I live to grow old, for I find I go down,

$53. Song. The Blind Boy.

O SAY what is that thing call'd light,
Which I must ne'er enjoy?
What are the blessings of the sight?
O tell your poor blind boy!

You talk of wondrous things you see,
You say the sun shines bright;
I feel him warın, but how can he
Or make it day or night?
My day or night myself I make,
Whene'er I sleep or play;
And could I ever keep awake,

With me 'twere always day,
With heavy sighs I often hear

You mourn my hapless woe;
But sure with patience I can bear
A loss I ne'er can know.
Then let not what I cannot have
My cheer of mind destroy:
Whilst thus I sing, I am a king,
Although a poor blind boy.

Let this be my fate:-In a country town May I have a warm house, with a stone atthe gate, And a cleanly young girl to rub my bald pate! May I govern my passion with an absolute

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

In the entertainment of the Miller of Mansfield.

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French fashions then were scorn'd,
Fond fangles then none knew,
Then modesty women adorn'd,
When this old cap was new.

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 those days did appear:
Good cheer in a nobleman's house
Was counted a seemly show;
We wanted no brawn or souse,
When this old cap was new.

We took not such delight
In cups of silver fine:
None under degree of a knight

In plate drank beer or wine:
Now each mechanical man

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

When this old cap was new.

Then brib'ry was unborn,

No simony men did use; Christians did usury scorn, Devis'd among the Jews: The lawyers to be fee'd

At that time hardly knew, For man with man agreed, When this old cap was new. No captain then carous'd, Nor spent poor soldiers' pay; They were not so abus'd

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

When this old cap was knew;

Which made them forward still

To go, although not press'd; And going with good-will,

Their fortunes were the best. Our English then in fight

Did foreign foes subdue, And forc'd them all to flight,

When this old cap was new.

God save our gracious king,

And send him long to live! Lord, mischief on them bring That will not their alms give; But seek to rob the poor

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

When this old cap was new.

$57. Song. The Vicar of Bray.
IN good king Charles's golden days,
When loyalty no harm meant,
A zealous high-churchman I was,
And so I got preferment:
To teach my flock I never miss'd,
Kings are by God appointed,
And dainn'd are those that do resist
Or touch the Lord's Anointed.

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

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 Jesuit,
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 steer'd,
And swore to him allegiance:
Old principles I did revoke,

Set conscience at a distance;
Passive obedience was a joke,
A jest was non-resistarice.

And this is law, &c.

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

I damn'd their moderation;
And thought the church in danger was
By such prevarication.

And this is law, &c.

When George in pudding time came o'er,
And mod rate men look'd big, sir!

I turn'd a cat-in-pan once more,
And so became a whig, sir:
And thus preferment I procur'd
From our new faith's defender;

And almost ev'ry day abjur'd
The pope and the pretender.
And this is law, &c.

Th' illustrious house of Hanover,
And protestant succession;
To these I do allegiance swear-
While they can keep possession :
For in my faith and loyalty
I never more will falter,

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

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


$58. Song. The Storm.
CEASE, rude Boreas, blustering railer;
List, ye landsmen, all to me!
Messmates, hear a brother sailor
Sing the dangers of the sea;
From bounding billows fast in motion,
When the distant whirlwinds rise,
To the tempest-troubled ocean,

Where the seas contend with skies!
Hark! the boatswain hoarsely bawling,
By topsail-sheets and haulyards stand!
Down top-gallants quick be hauling,

Down your stay-sails, hand, boys, hand! Now it freshens, set the braces,

The topsail sheets now let go;
Luff, boys, luff! don't make wry faces,
Up your topsails nimbly clew.

Now all you on down beds sporting,
Fondly lock'd in beauty's arms;
Fresh enjoyments wanton courting,
Safe from all but love's alarms;
Round us roars the tempest louder,
Think what fear our minds enthrals;
Harder yet, it yet blows harder,

Now again the boatswain calls!

The top-sail yards point to the wind, boys,
See all clear to reef each course;
Let the fore-sheet go, don't mind, 'boys,
Though the weather should be worse.
Fore and aft the sprit-sail yard get,
Reef the mizen, see all clear;
Hands up, each preventure-brace set,
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 eyes blue lightnings flash,
One wide water all around as :

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

Hark! what means that dreadful cry?

The foremast's gone, cries ev'ry tongue out,
O'er the lee, twelve feet '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 stout and bold;
Plumb the well-the leak increases,
Four feet water in the hold.

While o'er the ship wild waves are beating,
We for wives or children mourn;
Alas! from thence 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 save 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, boys, See! our mizen-mast is gone!

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