That did upon his fortune wait; And still, though humble was his state, Scarce could he think it a disaster To wait the will of such a master; Nor did his pride reluctant bend, Since that same master was his friend. All that indulgence could bestow Sir Jeff'ry did not fail to show; And, when alone, it seem'd to please The knight to set him at his ease, And shrink the distance to a span Between the master and the man. -Nay, here it cannot be denied That it was soothing to his pride To lay the shoulder-knot aside. The liv'ried dress of red and brown He thus was call'd on to disown: In blue and buff, or buff and blue He now appear'd to daily view. The knight allow'd the taylor's art By all its power to make him smart; And Snip with his consummate skill, In working drapery to his will, By his contrivance gave the cape A flow to soften down the shape, So that the hump could scarce be said His general figure to degrade, Nor, to a common view, be seen To indispose his pleasing mien.
Thus did he sit and calmly bless The hopes of promis'd happiness.
'HE various, the uncertain views
Which the all-anxious world pursues,
While it directs its searching eye
To what is call'd prosperity,
Compose the gen'ral, pictur'd strife
That forms the daily scene of life;
And make up the uncertain measure
Of power, of riches, and of pleasure;
Which, whatsoe'er may be our state,
Do on the varying projects wait
Of lowly poor or princely great:
For as all worldly things move on
We weigh them by comparison.
Thus he who boasts his little all
At a street-corner on a stall,
Tempting the gaze of wandering eyes
To view the transient merchandise,
Will look to Fortune's smile to bless
His humble trading with success,
As he whose freighted vessel sails
O'er distant seas with doubtful gales.
Nay, in Ambition's humble school
Perceive we not the love of rule,
O'er rustic swains to bear the rod
And be a village demi-god?
To gain command and take the lead
Where mean submission courts a head,
Does in the lowest class prevail
Of vulgar thoughts to turn the scale,
As that which on their wishes wait,
Whose object is to rule the state.
-Seek you for pleasure as it flows,
In ev'ry soil the flow'ret grows;
From the pale primrose of the dale
Nurs'd only by the vernal gale,
To the rich plant of sweets so rare
Whose tints the rainbow colours share
And drinks conservatorial air.
But, 'tis so subject to the blast,
It cannot promise long to last;
Though still it 'joys the fragrant day,
Till nature bids it pass away.
The rude boy turns the circling rope,
Or flies a kite or spins a top,
When, a stout stripling, he is seen
With bat and ball upon the green;
The later pleasures then await
On humble life whate'er its state,
And are with equal ardor sought
As those with high refinement wrought,
Where birth and wealth and taste combine
To make the festive brilliance shine.
Thus the same passions govern Who creep on this terrestrial ball : Their objects, truly, are the same, However shap'd, whate'er their name. What though the varying plan confounds In giving sixpences or pounds, In velvet or in home-spun cloth, They may be base curmudgeons both.
Some are by charity enroll'd
On tablets proud in lines of gold,
While others, as by stealth, convey
The mite that shuns the light of day;
Though each performs a diff'rent part,
Each may possess a Christian heart.
It is not upon wealth alone That happiness erects its throne: How oft, alas! it is we see The rich involv'd in misery; How oft is view'd in reason's eye The wants which wealth can ne'er supply! The way to power may be betray'd, Though 'tis with solid gold inlaid; Nay, purchas'd pleasure prove deceit, And be at length a very cheat.
-How weak, how vain is human pride,
Dares man upon
himself confide:
The wretch who glories in his gain
Amasses heaps on heaps in vain.
Why lose we life, in anxious cares,
To lay in hoards for future years?
Can they, when tortur'd by disease,
Cheer our sick heart and purchase ease?
Can they prolong one gasp of breath,
Or calm the troubled hour of death?
What's man in all his boasted sway?
Perhaps the tyrant of a day.
Can he in all the pride of power
Ensure his honours for an hour?
Alike the laws of life take place
Through ev'ry branch of human race:
The monarch, of long regal line,
Was rais'd from dust as frail as mine.
Can he pour health into his veins
Or cool the fever's restless pains?
Can he worn down in nature's course
New brace his feebled nerves with force?
Can he, how vain is mortal power,
Stretch life beyond the destin'd hour?
"Consider, man, weigh well thy frame;
The king, the beggar, is the same,
Dust form'd us all,—each breathes his day,
Then sinks into his mortal clay."
Thus wrote the fabling Muse of GAY.
Such thoughts as these of moral kind
QUE GENUS weigh'd within his mind :
For wherefore should it not be thought
That, as his early mind was taught,
It might be with sage maxims fraught?
-Thus seated, or as he stood sentry,
Sole guardian of the butler's pantry,
Which lock'd up all the household state,
The cumbrance rich of massy plate,
And all the honour that could grace
The power of superior place,
That did acknowledg'd rank bestow
O'er all the kitchen-folk below;
What wonder that his mind should range
On hopes that waited on the change
Which unexpected Fortune's power
Seem'd on his present state to shower.
Though while his wand'ring mind embrac'd
The present time as well as past,
The visions of the future too
Gave a fair prospect to his view.
But life this well-known feature bears,
Our hopes' associates are our fears,
And ever seem, in reason's eye,
As struggling for the mastery,
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