The warblings of the black-bird, clear and ftrong,
Are mufical enough in Thomson's fong;
And Cobham's groves and Windfor's green retreats,
When Pope describes them have a thousand sweets;
He likes the country, but in truth must own,
Moft likes it, when he studies it in town.
Poor Jack no matter who-for when I blame
I pity, and must therefore fink the name,
Liv'd in his faddle, lov'd the chace, the course,
And always, e'er he mounted, kifs'd his horfe.
Th' eftate his fires had own'd in ancient years,
Was quickly diflanc'd, match'd against a peer's.
Jack vanish'd, was regretted and forgot,
'Tis wild good-nature's never failing lot.
At length, when all had long fuppos'd him dead,
By cold fubmerfion, razor, rope, or lead,
My lord, alighting at his ufual place,
The crown, took notice of an oftler's face.
Jack knew his friend, but hop'd in that disguise
He might escape the most obferving eyes,
And whistling as if unconcern'd and gay,
Curried his nag and look'd another way.
Convinc'd at last upon a nearer view,
'Twas he, the fame, the very Jack he knew,
O'erwhelm'd at once with wonder, grief, and joy,
He prefs'd him much to quit his base employ,
His countenance, his purfe, his heart, his hand,
Infl'ence, and pow'r were all at his command:
Peers are not always gen'rous as well-bred,
But Granby was, meant truly what he faid:
Jack bow'd and was oblig'd-confefs'd 'twas ftrange
That fo retir'd he should not wish a change,
But knew no medium between guzzling beer,
And his old ftint, three thousand pounds a year.
Thus fome retire to nourish hopeless woe,
Some feeking happiness not found below,
Some to comply with humour, and a mind
To social scenes by nature difinclin'd,
Some fway'd by fashion, fome by deep difguft,
Some felf impov'rifh'd, and because they must,
But few that court Retirement, are aware
Of half the toils they must encounter there.
Lucrative offices are feldom loft
For want of pow'rs proportion'd to the post:
Give ev❜n a dunce th' employment he defires,
And he foon finds the talents it requires;
A business with an income at its heels
Furnishes always oil for its own wheels.
But in his arduous enterprize to close
His active years with indolent repose,
He finds the labours of that ftate exceed
His utmost faculties, fevere indeed.
'Tis easy to refign a toilfome place,
But not to manage leifure with a grace;
Abfence of occupation is not reft,
A mind quite vacant is a mind diftrefs'd.
The vet'ran fteed excus'd his task at length,
In kind compaffion of his failing strength,
And turn'd into the park or mead to graze,
Exempt from future fervice all his days,
There feels a pleasure perfect in its kind,
Ranges at liberty, and fnuffs the wind.
But when his lord would quit the bufy road,
To taste a joy like that he has bestow'd,
He proves lefs, happy than his favour'd brute,
A life of eafe a difficult purfuit.
Thought, to the man that never thinks, may feem
As natural, as when afleep, to dream,
But reveries (for human minds will act)
Specious in fhow, impoffible in fact,
Those flimfy webs that break as foon as wrought,
Attain not to the dignity of thought.
Nor yet the fwarms that occupy the brain:
Where dreams of drefs, intrigue, and pleasure reign,
Nor fuch as ufelefs converfation breeds,
Or luft engenders, and indulgence feeds.
Whence, and what are we? to what end ordain'd?
What means the drama by the world sustain❜d?
Business or vain amufement, care or mirth,
Divide the frail inhabitants of earth,
Is duty a mere fport, or an employ?
Life an intrusted talent, or a toy?
Is there as reason, confcience, fcripture fay,
Caufe to provide for a great future day,
When earth's affign'd duration at an end,
Man fhall be fummon'd and the dead attend?
The trumpet-will it found? the curtain rife?
And fhow th' auguft tribunal of the skies,
Where no prevarication fhall avail,
Where eloquence and artifice fhall fail,
The pride of arrogant diftinctions fall,
And confcience and our conduct judge us all?
Pardon me, ye that give the midnight oil,
To learned cares or philofophic toil,
Though I revere your honourable names,
Your useful labours and important aims,
And hold the world indebted to your aid,
Enrich'd with the discoveries ye have made,
Yet let me ftand excus'd, if I efteem
A mind employ'd on fo fublime a theme,
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