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Which is the happier, or the wiser,
Our Friend Dan Prior, told you know)
160 A frugal Moufe upon the whole, Yet lov'd his Friend, and had a Soul, Knew what was handsome, and would do't, On juft occafion, coute qui coute, He brought him Bacon (nothing lean) 165 Pudding, that might have pleas'd a Dean; Cheese, such as men in Suffolk make, But wish'd it Stilton for his fake; Yet, to his Guest tho' no way sparing, He eat himself the rind and paring
170 Our Courtier scarce could touch a bit, But show'd his Breeding and his Wit; He did his best to seem to eat, And cry'd, “ I vow you're mighty neat. “ But Lord, my Friend, this savage Scene! 175 s6 For God's sake, come, and live with Men : I C3
Mortales animas vivunt fortita, neque ulla eft,
“ Consider, Mice, like Men, must die,
The veriest Hermit in the Nation
185 When all their Lordships had sat late.)
Behold the place, where if a Poet Shin'd in Description, he might show it; Tell how the Moon-beam trembling falls, And tips with silver all the walls ;
igo Palladian walls, Venetian doors, Grotesco roofs, and Stucco foors: But let it (in a word) be said, The Moon was up and Men a bed, The Napkins white, the Carpet red : 195 The Guests withdrawn had left the Treat, And down the Mice fate, tête à téte.
Our Courtier walks from dish to dish, Taftes for his Friend of Fowl and Fish; Tells all their names, lays down the law, “ Que ça eft bon! Ah gouter ça! “ That Jelly's rich, this Malmsey healing, “ Pray, dip your Whiskers and your Tail in." Was ever such a happy Swain ? He stuffs and swills, and stuffs again.
205 “ I'm quite aitan'd-'tis mighty rude 66 To eat so much-but all's so good. I C4
" I have
Ille cubans gaudet mutata forte, bonifque
" I have a thousand thanks to give
Lord alone knows how to live." No sooner said, but from the Hall
210 Rush Chaplain, Butler, Dogs and all : “ A Rat, a Rat! clap to the door The Cat comes bouncing on the floor. O for the heart of Homer's Mice, Or Gods to save them in a trice!
215 (It was by Providence they think, For your damn’d Stucco has no chink.) " An't please your Honour, quoth the Peasant, « This fame Dessert is not so pleasant : “ Give me again my hollow Tree,
220 " A Crust of Bread, and Liberty !