Up yon green slope, of hazels trim,
An avenue so cool and dim
Shall to an arbour, at the end,
In spite of gout, entice a friend.
My predecessor loved devotion-
But of a garden had no notion."
Continuing this fantastic farce on,
He now commences country parson.
To make his character entire,
He weds-a Cousin of the Squire ;
Not over weighty in the purse,
But many Doctors have done worse:
And though she boasts no charms divine,
Yet she can carve, and make birch wine.
Thus fix'd, content he taps his barrel,
Exhorts his neighbours not to quarrel;
Finds his Church-wardens have discerning
Both in good liquor and good learning;
With tithes his barns replete he sees,
And chuckles o'er his surplice fees;
Studies to find out latent dues,
And regulates the state of pews;
Rides a sleek mare with purple housing,
To share the monthly club's carousing;
Of Oxford pranks facetious tells,
And-but on Sundays-hears no bells;
Sends presents of his choicest fruit,
And prunes himself each sapless shoot;
Plants cauliflowers, and boasts to rear
The earliest melons of the year;
Thinks alteration charming work is,
Keeps bantam cocks, and feeds his turkeys;
Builds in his copse a favourite bench,
And stores the pond with carp and tench.-
But, ah! too soon his thoughtless breast
By cares domestic is opprest;
And a third butcher's bill, and brewing,
Threaten inevitable ruin :
For children fresh expenses yet,
And Dicky now for school is fit.
Why did I sell my college life,"
He cries," for benefice and wife?
Return, ye days, when endless pleasure
I found in reading, or in leisure!
When calm around the common-room
I puff'd my daily pipe's perfume!
Rode for a stomach, and inspected,
At annual bottlings, corks selected :
And dined untax'd, untroubled, under
The portrait of our pious Founder!
When impositions were supplied
To light my pipe-or soothe my pride-
No cares were then for forward peas,
A yearly-longing wife to please;
My thoughts no christening dinners crost,
No children cried for butter'd toast;
And every night I went to bed,
Without a Modus in my head!
Oh! trifling head, and fickle heart!
Chagrin'd at whatsoe'er thou art;
A dupe to follies yet untried,
And sick of pleasures, scarce enjoy'd!
Each prize possess'd, thy transport ceases,
And in pursuit alone it pleases.
THE PHAETON, AND THE ONE-HORSE
AT Blagrave's1 once upon a time,
There stood a Phaeton sublime :
Unsullied by the dusty road,
Its wheels with recent crimson glow'd;
Its sides display'd a dazzling hue,
Its harness tight, its lining new :
No scheme-enamour'd youth, I ween,
Survey'd the gaily-deck'd machine,
But fondly long'd to seize the reins,
And whirl o'er Campsfield's 2 tempting plains. 10
Meantime it chanced, that hard at hand
A One-Horse Chair had took its stand:
When thus our vehicle begun
To sneer the luckless Chaise and One:
"How could my master place me here
Within thy vulgar atmosphere?
From classic ground pray shift thy station,
Thou scorn of Oxford education !-
Your homely make, believe me, man,
Is quite upon the Gothic plan;
And you, and all your clumsy kind,
For lowest purposes design'd:
Fit only, with a one-eyed mare,
To drag, for benefit of air,
The country parson's pregnant wife,
Thou friend of dull domestic life!
Or, with his maid and aunt, to school
To carry Dicky on a stool:
Blagrave:' well known at Oxford for letting out carriages, 1763. 'Campsfield:' in the road to Blenheim.
Or, haply, to some christening gay
A brace of godmothers convey.-
Or, when blest Saturday prepares
For London tradesmen rest from cares,
'Tis thine to make them happy one day,
Companion of their genial Sunday!
"Tis thine, o'er turnpikes newly made,
When timely showers the dust have laid,
To bear some alderman serene
To fragrant Hampstead's sylvan scene.
Nor higher scarce thy merit rises
Among the polish'd sons of Isis.
Hired for a solitary crown,
Canst thou to schemes invite the
gown
Go, tempt some prig, pretending taste,
With hat new cock'd, and newly laced,
O'er mutton-chops, and scanty wine,
At humble Dorchester to dine!
Meantime remember, lifeless drone!
I carry Bucks and Bloods alone.
And oh whene'er the weather's friendly,
What inn at Abingdon or Henley,
But still my vast importance feels,
And gladly greets my entering wheels!
And think, obedient to the thong,
How yon gay street we smoke along:
While all with envious wonder view
The corner turn'd so quick and true."
To check an upstart's empty pride,
Thus sage the One-Horse Chair replied:
Pray, when the consequence is weigh'd,
What's all your spirit and parade?
From mirth to grief what sad transitions,
To broken bones and impositions!
Or if no bones are broke, what's worse,
Your schemes make work for Glass and Nourse.1
On us pray spare your keen reproaches,
From One-Horse Chairs men rise to Coaches;
If calm Discretion's steadfast hand
With cautious skill the reins command.
From me fair Health's fresh fountain springs,
O'er me soft Snugness spreads her wings:
And Innocence reflects her ray
To gild my calm sequester'd way:
Even kings might quit their state to share
Contentment and a One-Horse Chair.-
What though, o'er yonder echoing street
Your rapid wheels resound so sweet;
Shall Isis' sons thus vainly prize
A Rattle of a larger size?"
Blagrave, who during the dispute
Stood in a corner, snug and mute,
Surprised, no doubt, in lofty verse
To hear his Carriages converse,
With solemn face, o'er Oxford ale,
To me disclosed this wondrous tale :
I straight despatch'd it to the Muse,
Who brush'd it up for Jackson's news,
And, what has oft been penn'd in prose,
Added this moral at the close:
"Things may be useful, though obscure;
The pace that's slow is often sure:
When empty pageantries we prize,
We raise but dust to blind our eyes.
The Golden Mean can best bestow
Safety for unsubstantial show."
Glass and Nourse:' surgeons in Oxford.
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