Happy the Man whose Wish and Care

A few paternal Acres bound,

Content to breathe his native Air,

In his own Ground.

Whose Herds with Milk, whose Fields with Bread,

Whose Flocks supply him with Attire,

Whose Trees in Summer yield him Shade,

In Winter Fire.

Blest, who can unconcernedly find

Hours, Days and Years slide soft away,

In Health of Body, Peace of Mind,

Quiet by Day,

Sound Sleep by Night; Study and Ease

Together mixt; sweet Recreation;

And Innocence which most does please

With Meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,

Thus unlamented let me die,

Steal from the World, and not a Stone

Tell where I lie.

Biblis does Solitude admire,

A wond’rous Lover of the Dark;

Each Night puts out her Chamber Fire,

And just keeps in a single Spark;

’Till four she keeps herself alive,

Warm’d by her Piety, no doubt;

Then, tir’d with kneeling, just at five,

She sighs—and lets that Spark go out.

Our youthful Preacher see, intent on Fame;

Warm to gain Souls?—No, ’tis to gain a Name.

Behold his Hands display’d, his Body rais’d;

With what a Zeal he labours—to be prais’d.

Touch’d with each Weakness which he does arraign,

With Vanity he talks against the Vain;

With Ostentation does to Meekness guide;

Proud of his Periods form’d to strike at Pride.

Without Repentance none to Heav’n can go,

Yet what Repentance is few seem to know:

’Tis not to cry out Mercy, or to sit

And droop, or to confess that thou hast fail’d;

’Tis to bewail the Sins thou didst commit,

And not commit those Sins thou hast bewail’d.

He that bewails, and not forsakes them too,

Confesses rather what he means to do.

With what a perfect World-revolving Power

Were first the unweildy Planets launch’d along

Th’illimitable Void! Thus to remain

Amid the Flux of many thousand Years,

That oft has swept the busy Race of Men,

And all their labour’d Monuments away:

Unresting, changeless, matchless, in their Course;

To Night and Day, with the delightful Round

Of Seasons, faithful, not eccentric once:

So pois’d, and perfect is the vast Machine!

Dine with little, sup with less:

Do better still; sleep supperless.

Irus tho’ wanting Gold and Lands,

Lives chearful, easy, and content;

Corvus, unbless’d, with twenty Hands

Employ’d to count his yearly Rent.

Sages in Wisdom! tell me which

Of these you think possesses more!

One with his Poverty is rich,

And one with all his Wealth is poor.

Of all the Causes which conspire to blind

Man’s erring Judgment, and misguide the Mind,

What the weak Head with strongest Biass rules,

Is Pride, that never-failing Vice of Fools.

Whatever Nature has in Worth deny’d,

She gives in large Recruits of needful Pride;

For as in Bodies, thus in Souls we find

What wants in Blood and Spirits, swell’d with Wind.

All-conq’ring Heat, oh intermit thy Wrath!

And on my throbbing Temples potent thus

Beam not so hard! Incessant still you flow,

And still another fervent Flood succeeds,

Pour’d on the Head profuse. In vain I sigh,

And restless turn, and look around for Night;

Night is far off; and hotter Hours approach.

Who can endure!—

Would Men but follow what the Sex advise,

All things would prosper, all the World grow wise.

’Twas by Rebecca’s Aid that Jacob won

His Father’s Blessing from an elder Son.

Abusive Nabal ow’d his forfeit Life

To the wise Conduct of a prudent Wife.

At Hester’s suit, the persecuting Sword

Was sheath’d, and Israel liv’d to bless the Lord.

All other Goods by Fortune’s Hand are giv’n,

A Wife is the peculiar Gift of Heav’n.

Vain Fortune’s Favours, never at a Stay,

Like empty Shadows, pass, and glide away;

One solid Comfort, our eternal Wife,

Abundantly supplies us all our Life:

This Blessing lasts (if those that try say true)

As long as Heart can wish—and longer too.

Be Niggards of Advice on no Pretence;

For the worst Avarice is that of Sense.

Yet ’tis not all, your Counsel’s free and true:

Blunt Truths more Mischief than nice Falshoods do.

Men must be taught as if you taught them not,

And Things unknown propos’d as Things forgot;

Without Good-Breeding Truth is disapprov’d

That only makes superior Sense belov’d.

Sylvia while young, with ev’ry Grace adorn’d,

Each blooming Youth, and fondest Lover scorn’d:

In Years at length arriv’d at Fifty-nine,

She feels Love’s Passion as her Charms decline:

—Thus Oaks a hundred Winters old

Just as they now expire,

Turn Touchwood, doated, grey and old,

And at each Spark take Fire.—

This World’s an Inn, all Travellers are we;

And this World’s Goods th’ Accommodations be.

Our Life is nothing but a Winter’s Day;

Some only break their Fast, and so away.

Others stay Dinner, and depart full fed.

The deepest Age but sups and goes to bed.

He’s most in Debt that lingers out the Day;

Who dies betimes has less and less to pay.

Two trav’ling Beggars, (I’ve forgot their Name)

An Oister found to which they both laid Claim.

Warm the Dispute! At length to Law they’d go,

As richer Fools for Trifles often do.

The Cause two Petty-foggers undertake,

Resolving right or wrong some Gain to make.

They jangle till the Court this Judgment gave,

Determining what every one should have.

Blind Plaintiff, lame Defendant, share

The friendly Law’s impartial Care:

A Shell for him, a Shell for thee;

The Middle’s Bench and Lawyer’s Fee.