Law-fuits I'd fhun, with as much studious care
As I would dens where hungry lions are;
And rather put up injuries, than be
A plague to him who'd be a plague to me.
I value quiet at a price too great,
To give for my revenge
For what do we by all our bustle gain,
But counterfeit delight for real pain?
If Heav'n a date of many years would give,
Thus I'd in pleasure, eafe, and plenty, live;
And as I near approach'd the verge of life,
Some kind relation (for I'd have no wife)
Should take upon him all my worldly care,
Whilft I did for a better state
Then I'd not be with any trouble vex'd,
Nor have the ev'ning of my days perplex'd;
But, by a filent and a peaceful death,
Without a figh refign my aged breath:
And when committed to the duft, I'd have
Few tears, but friendly, dropp'd into my grave.
Then would my exit fo propitious be,
All men would wish to live and die like me.
HERE fair Sabrina's wand'ring currents flow,
A large fmooth plain extends it's verdant brow;
Here, ev'ry morn, while fruitful vapours feed
The fwelling blade, and bless the smoking mead,
A cruel tyrant reigns-like Time, the fwain
Whets his unrighteous fcythe, and fhaves the plain :
Beneath each stroke the peeping flow'rs decay,
And all th' unripen'd crop is fwept away.
The heavy roller next he tugs along,
Whiffs his fhort pipe, or rears a rural fong;
With curious eye then the prefs'd turf he views,
And ev'ry rifing prominence fubdues.
Now, when each craving ftomach was well-ftor'd,
And Church and King had travell'd round the board,
Hither, at Fortune's fhrine to pay their court,
With eager hopes the motley tribe refort.
Attornies fpruce, in their plate-button'd frocks;
And rofy parfons, fat and orthodox:
Of ev'ry fect, whigs, papifts, and high-flyers;
Cornuted aldermen, and hen-peck'd squires ;
Fox-hunters, quacks, fcribblers in verse and prose;
And half-pay captains, and half-witted beaus.
On the green cirque the ready racers ftand,
Difpos'd in pairs, and tempt the bowler's hand;
Each polish'd sphere does his round brother own,
The twins diftinguifh'd by their marks are known.
As the ftrong rein guides the well-manag'd horse,
Here weighty lead infus'd directs their course :
These in the ready road drive on with speed,
But those in crooked paths more artfully fucceed.
So the tall ship, that makes fome dang'rous bay,
With a fide-wind obliquely flopes her way.
Lo! there the Silver Tumbler fix'd on high,
The victor's prize, inviting ev'ry eye!
The champions or confent or chance divide,
While each man thinks his own the furer fide,
And the Jack leads, the skilful bowler's guide.
Bendo ftripp'd first-from foreign coafts he brought '
A chaos of receipts, and anarchy of thought;
Where the tumultuous whims, to faction prone,
Still juftled monarch Reafon from her throne:
More dang'rous than the porcupine's his quill,
Inur'd to flaughter, and fecure to kill.
Let loofe, juft Heav'n! each virulent difeafe,
But fave us from fuch murderers as these !
Might Bendo live but half a patriarch's age,
Th' unpeopled world would fink beneath his rage;
Nor need, t' appease the just Creator's ire,
A fecond deluge, or confuming fire.
He winks one eye, and knits his brow fevere,
Then from his hand launches the flying sphere;
Out of the green the guiltless wood he hurl'd,
Swift as his patients from this nether world:
Then grinn'd malignant; but the jocund crowd
Deride his fenfelefs rage, and fhout aloud.
Next, Zadock, 'tis thy turn, imperious priest!
Still late at church, but early at a feast.
No turkey-cock appears with better grace;
His garments black, vermilion paints his face :
His wattles hang upon his stiffen'd band,
His platter feet upon the trigger ftand,
He grafps the bowl in his rough brawny hand:
Then fquatting down, with his grey goggle eyes,
He takes his aim, and at the mark it flies.
Zadock pursues, and wabbles o'er the plain;
But shakes his ftrutting paunch, and ambles on in vain :
For, oh! wide erring, to the left it glides ;
The inmate lead the lighter wood misguides.
He sharp reproofs with kind entreaties joins,
Then on the counter fide with pain reclines,
As if he meant to regulate it's course,
By pow'r attractive and magnetick force.
Now, almost in defpair, he raves, he ftorms,
Writhes his unwieldy trunk in various forms.
Unhappy Proteus! ftill in vain he tries
A thousand shapes; the bowl erroneous flies,
Deaf to his pray'rs, regardless of his cries:
His puffing cheeks with rifing rage inflame,
And all his sparkling rubies glow with fhame.
3 N
Bendo's proud heart, proof againft Fortune's frown,
Refolves once more to make the prize his own:
Cautious he plods, furveying all the green,
And measures with his eye the space between.
But as on him 'twas a peculiar curse
To fall from one extreme into a worse;
Conscious of too much vigour, now for fear
He should exceed, at hand he checks the sphere.
Soon as he found it's languid force decay,
And the too weak impreffion die away,
Quick after it he fcuds; urges behind,
Step after flep; and now, with anxious mind,
Hangs o'er the bowl, flow-creeping on the plain,
And chides it's faint efforts, and bawls amain :
Then on the guiltless green the blame to lay,
Curfes the mountains that obftruct his way;
Brazens it out with an audacious face,
His infolence improving by difgrace.
Zadock, who now with three black mugs His drooping heart, and his funk spirits rear'd, Advances to the trigg with folemn pace,
And ruddy hope fits blooming on his face.
The bowl he pois'd; with pain his hams he bends;
On well-chofe ground unto the mark it tends:
Each adverse heart pants with unusual fear,
With joy he follows the propitious sphere.
Alas! how frail is ev'ry mortal scheme!
We build on fand, our happiness a dream.
Bendo's fhort bowl ftops the proud victor's course,
Purloins his fame, and deadens all it's force.
At Bendo from each corner of his eyes
He darts malignant rays, then mutt'ring flies
Into the bow'r; there, panting and half dead,
In thick mundungus clouds he hides his head.
Mufe! raise thy voice; to win the glorious prize,
Bid all the fury of the battle rife.
Thefe but the light-arm'd champions of the field;
See Griper there, a veteran well skill'd!
This able pilot knows to fteer a caufe
Thro' all the rocks and fhallows of the laws;
Or if 'tis wreck'd, his trembling client faves
On the next plank, and disappoints the waves.
In this, at least, all hiftories agree,
That tho' he loft his caufe-he fav'd his fee.
When the fat client looks in jovial plight,
How complaifant the man! each point how right!
But if th' abandon'd orphan puts his cafe,
And poverty fits fhrinking on his face--
How like a cur he fnarls, when at the door
For broken fcraps he quarrels with the poor!
The farmer's oracle, when rent-day's near,
And landlords, by forbearance, are fevere;
When huntsmen trefpafs, or his neighbour's fwine;
Or tatter'd Crape extorts, by right divine.
Him all the rich their contributions pay,
Him all the poor with aching hearts obey!
He in his fwan-skin doublet ftruts along;
Now begs, and now rebukes the preffing throng.
A paffage clear'd, he takes his aim with care,
And gently from his hand lets loose the sphere:
Smooth as a swallow o'er the plain it flies,
While he pursues it's track with eager eyes;
It's hopeful courfe approv'd, he fhouts aloud,
Claps both his hands, and juftles through the crowd.
Hov'ring a while, foon at the mark it stood,
Hung o'er inclin'd, and fondly kifs'd the wood.
Loud is th' applaufe of ev'ry betting friend,
And peals of clam'rous joy the concave rend:
But in each hoftile face a difmal gloom
Appears, the fad prefage of lofs to come.
'Mong thefe Trebellius, with a mournful air
Of livid hue, just dying with despair,
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