English Poets of the Eighteenth Century. Various

As much as I could moderately spend;

       A little more, sometimes t' oblige a friend.

       Nor should the sons of poverty repine

       At fortune's frown, for they should taste of mine;

       And all that objects of true pity were,

       Should be relieved with what my wants could spare;

       For what our Maker has too largely given,

       Should be returned in gratitude to Heaven.

       A frugal plenty should my table spread.

       With healthy, not luxurious, dishes fed;

       Enough to satisfy, and something more,

       To feed the stranger, and the neighb'ring poor.

       Strong meat indulges vice, and pampering food

       Creates diseases, and inflames the blood.

       But what's sufficient to make nature strong,

       And the bright lamp of life continue long,

       I'd freely take, and as I did possess,

       The bounteous Author of my plenty bless.

      III. HIS HOSPITALITY AND TEMPERANCE

      I'd have a little cellar, cool and neat,

       With humming ale and virgin wine replete.

       Wine whets the wit, improves its native force,

       And gives a pleasant flavour to discourse;

       By making all our spirits debonair,

       Throws off the lees and sediment of care.

       But as the greatest blessing Heaven lends

       May be debauched, and serve ignoble ends;

       So, but too oft, the grape's refreshing juice

       Does many mischievous effects produce.

       My house should no such rude disorders know,

       As from high drinking consequently flow;

       Nor would I use what was so kindly given,

       To the dishonour of indulgent Heaven.

       If any neighbour came, he should be free,

       Used with respect, and not uneasy be,

       In my retreat, or to himself or me.

       What freedom, prudence, and right reason give,

       All men may, with impunity, receive:

       But the least swerving from their rules too much,

       And what's forbidden us, 'tis death to touch.

      IV. HIS COMPANY

      That life may be more comfortable yet,

       And all my joys refined, sincere, and great;

       I'd choose two friends, whose company would be

       A great advance to my felicity:

       Well-born, of humours suited to my own,

       Discreet, that men as well as books have known;

       Brave, generous, witty, and exactly free

       From loose behaviour or formality;

       Airy and prudent, merry but not light;

       Quick in discerning; and in judging, right;

       They should be secret, faithful to their trust,

       In reasoning cool, strong, temperate, and just;

       Obliging, open, without huffing, brave;

       Brisk in gay talking, and in sober, grave;

       Close in dispute, but not tenacious; tried

       By solemn reason, and let that decide;

       Not prone to lust, revenge, or envious hate;

       Nor busy meddlers with intrigues of state;

       Strangers to slander, and sworn foes to spite,

       Not quarrelsome, but stout enough to fight;

       Loyal and pious, friends to Caesar; true

       As dying martyrs to their Makers too.

       In their society I could not miss

       A permanent, sincere, substantial bliss.

      V. HIS LADY AND CONVERSE

      Would bounteous Heaven once more indulge, I'd choose

       (For who would so much satisfaction lose

       As witty nymphs in conversation give?)

       Near some obliging modest fair to live:

       For there's that sweetness in a female mind,

       Which in a man's we cannot [hope to] find;

       That, by a secret but a powerful art,

       Winds up the spring of life, and does impart

       Fresh, vital heat to the transported heart.

      I'd have her reason all her passions sway;

       Easy in company, in private gay;

       Coy to a fop, to the deserving free;

       Still constant to herself, and just to me.

       She should a soul have for great actions fit;

       Prudence and wisdom to direct her wit;

       Courage to look bold danger in the face,

       Not fear, but only to be proud or base;

       Quick to advise, by an emergence pressed,

       To give good counsel, or to take the best.

      I'd have th' expressions of her thoughts be such,

       She might not seem reserved, nor talk too much:

       That shows a want of judgment and of sense;

       More than enough is but impertinence.

       Her conduct regular, her mirth refined;

       Civil to strangers, to her neighbours kind;

       Averse to vanity, revenge, and pride;

       In all the methods of deceit untried;

       So faithful to her friend, and good to all,

       No censure might upon her actions fall:

       Then would e'en envy be compelled to say

       She goes the least of womankind astray.

      To this fair creature I'd sometimes retire;

       Her conversation would new joys inspire;

       Give life an edge so keen, no surly care

       Would venture to assault my soul, or dare

       Near my retreat to hide one secret snare.

       But so divine, so noble a repast

       I'd seldom, and with moderation, taste:

       For highest cordials all their virtue lose,

       By a too frequent and too bold an use;

       And what would cheer the spirits in distress,

       Ruins our health when taken to excess.

      VI. HIS PEACEABLE LIFE

      I'd be concerned in no litigious jar;

       Beloved by all, not vainly popular.

       Whate'er assistance I had power to bring

       T' oblige my company, or to serve my king,

       Whene'er they called, I'd readily afford,

       My tongue, my pen, my counsel, or my sword.

       Lawsuits I'd shun, with