"And wonder what the ministry can mean,
"To leave so great a man, so long a dean.”
If he should ask you how, or what, I do,
Tell him, my Clio, that I live with you;
Attend your call, fulfil what you desire,
Speak as you prompt, and write as you inspire.
But when some friend or mistress calls, I fly
T'amuse their leisure, lay my studies by,
And sometimes please, because I always try.
Blest with an even temper, and a heart
That scorns all guilt, all falsehood, and all art;
With wit, a friend to please, a foe to hurt,
Humour to ridicule, or to divert,
If vex'd, my grief to others is unknown,
And if unhappy, only so alone;
No passion e'er disturbs my social hours,
Nor ranc'rous spleen, my happy time devours;
No gnawing envy e'er disturbs my breast-
Tho' Sands is made a peer, yet I'm at rest.
Contempt of wealth has ever been my crime,
But I grow covetous of health and time;
Stedfast in principle, and stiff in party,
To Pultney adverse still, to Walpole hearty.
Easy where'er I am, for I can stay
Six months in Wales, yet know no tedious day;
There regularly study, eat and sleep,
And sober meals, and early hours I keep;
But when th' inverted year wears winter's frown,
My coach is order'd, and I drive to town;
There dash into a stream of new delight,
Enjoy my friends by day, my nymph by night.
Till morn, sometimes, a social glass I take,
Not for my wine, but my companion's sake;
In short, broke loose from Wales to company,
There's nothing so irregular as I.
And when discourse, and claret fill my head,
I quite forget there's such a place as bed;
Such are the nights that I have seen of yore;
Such are the nights that I shall see no more.
When Winnington and Fox, with flow of soul,
With sense and wit, drove round the cheerful
Our hearts were open'd, and our converse free, But now they both are lost, quite lost to me. One to a mistress gives up all his life,
And one from me flies wisely to his wife ;*
There proves the highest joys that man can
The joys of truth, and of alternate love.
Each happy in his diff'rent path go on,
Pleas'd and content; I, pensive and alone,
Rejoice at both your fates, but mourn my own.
No more of this, my Muse, lets turn to Hill,
I've something more to tell of parson Hill;
For Fame's posterior trumpet brays aloud,
That Canon Hill is grown excessive proud;
And minds no more (all that Fame says I'll prove),
The Lord of Redlynch + than the Lord above;
Forgets old friends, and of his promise fails,
Ne'er shew'd Sir Charles his staring face in
Wales.
• Lady Caroline Lenox, wife of the Right Honourable Henry Fox.-W.
+ Redlynch the seat of Lord Ilchester.-W.
For which, at Maddington he will so use him,
So joke upon, so teaze, and so abuse him;
Tell all he knows of him, both truth and slander,
Make ev'ry thing he says a double entendre.
To all the servants, as his constant trade is,
Expose him, make him blush before the ladies;
Always take care to shew where he's absurd,
Ask him the meaning of a Latin word;
And use him, since he is no more the same man,
As ill as, had he pow'r, he 'd use a layman.
But, dearest Muse, advise him as a friend,
His pride to mod'rate, and his life to mend ;
And this short lesson whisper in his ear,
As he his fortune bears, with him we 'll bear.
TO THE TUNE OF "YE COMMONS AND PEERS.
Written in the beginning of May, 1743.
ATTEND to my call,
Ye Jacobites all,
Who so long have wept over this nation;
And with me you will own,
That England is grown,
To be in a blest situation.
Since Walpole, that fool,
No longer does rule,
But to Norfolk is gone in disgrace;
What mayn't we expect,
When once we reflect,
What wise men are come in his place!
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