ページの画像
PDF
ePub

When terrible tempests assail us,
And mountainous billows affright;
No grandeur or wealth can avail us,
But skilful industry steers right.

Then why should we quarrel for riches, &c.

The courtier's more subject to dangers,
Who rules at the helm of the state,
Than we, who to politics strangers,
Escape the snares laid for the great.
The various blessings of nature,

In various nations we try;
No mortals than us can be greater,
Who merrily live till we die.

Then why should we quarrel for riches,
Or any such glittering toys?

A light heart, and a thin pair of breeches,
Go thorough the world, my brave boys.

[blocks in formation]

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.

* In the entertainment of 'The King and Miller of Mansfield.' This song was written-not by Mr. Dodsley, but-by a Mr. Charles Highmore, at his request.

What though he all dusty and whiten'd does go,
The more he's bepowder'd, the more like a beau;
A clown in this 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 meal.

What if, when a pudding for dinner he lacks,

He cribs, without scruple, from other men's sacks
In this of right noble examples 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 dry,
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? *

[The subject of this song, and of the dramatic entertainment from which it was taken, seems to be contained in the fifteenth of the Ancient Ballads reprinted in the present volume.]

SONG XXVII.

BY MR. ISAAC BICKERSTAFF.*

THE honest heart, whose thoughts are clear
From fraud, disguise, and guile,
Need neither Fortune's frowning fear,
Nor court the harlot's smile.

The greatness that would make us grave,

Is but an empty thing;

What more than mirth would mortals have?
The cheerful man's a king!

SONG XXVIII.

THE OLD MAN'S WISH.

BY DR. POPE.

IF I live to grow old, for I find I go down,
Let this be my fate :-in a country town,
May I have a warm house, with a stone at the gate,
And a cleanly young girl to rub my bald pate.

May I

And

govern my passion with an absolute sway, grow wiser and better, as my strength wears away, Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay.

Near a shady grove, and a murmuring brook,
With the ocean at distance, whereon I may look ;

In the comic opera of 'Love in a Village.'

With a spacious plain, without hedge or stile,
And an easy pad-nag to ride out a mile.
May I govern, &c.

With Horace and Petrarch, and two or three more
Of the best wits that reign'd in the ages before;
With roast mutton, rather than ven'son or teal,
And clean, though coarse linen, at every

May I govern, &c.

meal.

With a pudding on Sundays, with stout humming liquor,

And remnants of Latin to welcome the vicar;

With Monte Fiascone or Burgundy wine,

To drink the king's health as oft as I dine.

May I govern, &c.

last day,

With a courage undaunted may I face my
And when I am dead may the better sort say,-

In the morning when sober, in the evening when mellow,
He's gone, and [has] left not behind him his fellow :

For he govern'd his passion with an absolute sway, And grew wiser and better, as his strength wore away, Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay.*

* The author republished this song, in his old age, with large additions, and a number of whimsical notes, and illustrations from the Roman, Italian, and German poets. None of his supplemental stanzas were thought properly adapted to the present publication; but all the corrections and alterations he has made in the original verses have been carefully retained; except only as to the last chorus, which does not, in his enlarged copy, differ from the first.

[blocks in formation]

The solitary bird of night

Through the thick shades now wings his flight,
And quits his time-shook tower;
Where, shelter'd from the blaze of day,

In philosophic gloom he lay,

Beneath his ivy bower.

With joy I hear the solemn sound,

Which midnight-echoes waft around,
And sighing gales repeat:
Fav'rite of Pallas! I attend,
And, faithful to thy summons, bend
At Wisdom's awful seat.

She loves the cool, the silent eve,
Where no false shows of life deceive,
Beneath the lunar ray:

Here Folly drops each vain disguise,
Nor sport her gaily-colour'd dyes,
As in the glare of day.

O Pallas! queen of every art,

That glads the sense, or mends the heart,
Blest source of purer joys:

[Prefixed to her English translation of Epictetus.]

« 前へ次へ »