Satires 2.6 (Creech): Hoc Erat In Votis

THese were my Prayers, and these my constant Vows,
A pretty Seat, a Fountain near my House,
A Garden, and a little Grove of Trees,
'Tis well, the Gods have given more than these;
Enough kind Mercury, no more I crave,
Only continue still, what now I have.
If I am not profuse, and wast, or raise
My moderat Fortune, by unlawful Ways.
If I ne're wish, Oh that the Gods would yield,
That Nook that spoyls the Figure of my Field:
Or, oh that I a pot of Gold had found,
As he who hir'd to Till anothers Ground,
By the assistance of a lucky God
Grew rich, and bought the very Land he plow'd.
But if I live content, preserve my store,
And be my Guard, as thou hast been before;
Defend my Cattle, and my Flocks, be kind,
And fatten all I have, except my Mind:
Then when I from the noisy Town retreat,
And free from Bus'ness take my Country Seat:
What shall I do but write, what Subject choose,
But easy Satyr, and improve my Muse.
Here no Ambition kills, no heavy Wind,
Affects my Body and corrupts my Mind.
To Fields the Gods long Life, and plenty gave,
No sickly Autumns here inrich the Grave.

Old Father Janus (thus the Gods decree)
We Men begin our Years and Toyl with Thee.
With Thee my Verse, you hurry me to Town,
To be a Witness, and I must be gone,
Tho't Snows, and Winter whirls the freezing day
In shortest Circles, yet I must away.
And then when my ungrateful task is done,
Press thro the Crowd, and justle every One
That doth not make me room, and thro 'em down,
Whylst He that's kick't, crys Plague! and why so fast?
Pox! What d'ye mean, and why in so much Hast?
When you run to my Lord, you scour the Street
Press on, and kick and justle all you meet,
And this I swear is pleasant, this is sweet!
But when I come a busy Crowd appears
Of loud impertinent Petitioners,
And their requests dance thick about my Ears,
One begs that you would be at Court betime
To morrow morning, and appear for him.
The Scribes request, that I would get your Ear,
About a public, new, and great Affair:
Another crys, good Horace, get this Bill
Sign'd by Mecoenas. If I can I will.
But he seems discontent, and urges on,
Nay, if you will, I'me sure it may be done.
'Tis eight Years since almost Mecoenas chose,
And made me a Retainer to his House:
Yet only such a One, as free from Care,
He'd sometimes take in's Coach to take the Air,
Talk common Talk, as how d'ye like the Play,
The Fencers were well matcht, what news to day,
The Morning's cold, and we must have a Care,
And such like common Things, as these appear,
That may be trusted in a leaky Ear.
Hence every day Men envy more my State,
He at the Play with great Mecoenas sate,
Or Bowl'd, cry all, He's Fortunes darling Son,
And thus the silly Chat runs o're the Town.
Then all that meet me, come and ask the News,
My Patience and my pretious Time abuse:
Pray Sir (For you so much at Court must know,)
D'ye hear what News from warlike Dacia? No.
Come, You're a Wag. Pox take me if I do.
Pray Sir, the Lands that Caesar vow'd to share,
Amongst the Souldiers to reward the War,
What must they be in Sicily or here?
When I profess my Ignorance, Morose
They all imagine me, and plaguy close;
And thus I loose my days, but wish repeat,

Oh! When shall I enjoy my Country Seat?
Oh! when remov'd from noise to quiet Peace,
Amidst my learned Books, my sleep and ease;
Whilst hours do smoothly flow and free from strife,
Forget the Troubles of a busy Life?
Oh Beans Pythagoras his nearest kin,
You lovely Herbs, and most delicious Chine
When shall I see, when feed on you agen?
Oh sweet, Oh heavenly Feasts, where I and mine,
Before my houshold Gods securely dine;
When I my self shall tast a dish of meat,
Then give't my wanton Slaves, and bid 'em eat:
When all my Guests drink freely what they please,
No Glass is mark't or fill'd, but more or less,
As mirth invites; No drunken Laws to force,
And all the time is full of good discourse,
We talk of no Mans Farms, or Wealth, or Skill,
Or whether Caesar's Fool danc't well or ill.
But we discourse, of what we ought to do,
And what 'tis fault and folly not to know;
As whether Wealth or Vertue brings a Man
To happiness, or whether Leagues began
From Interest or Right, what cheats the Crowd,
And what is good, and what the greatest Good:

My Neighbor Gerrius, as the Matter falls,
Mixes his merry, pat, instructive Tales:
And thus for Instance, when by chance he hears
Old Alpius wealth admir'd, tho full of Cares,
He tells this Story. Once upon a Time,
(As Tales begin) and in a moderate clime:
A Country Mouse a City entertain'd,
His old Acquaintance, and his special Friend,
This Mouse was thrifty, yet would kindly Feast
When time requir'd, and nobly treat his Guest:
In short, now striving every way to please,
He freely brought his hoarded Oats and Pease,
His nibbled Bacon in his mouth he brings,
His Apples and a thousand pretty things,
His Nuts, his Grapes well-dry'd, and try'd his best,
By choice variety to please his Guest.
Who sate, and as affraid to hurt his mouth,
Did nibble here and there with dainty Tooth:
Whilst he lys by in straw, and Barley eats,
Or Chaff; and leaves his Guest the better Meats.
At last the City Mouse, begins; My Friend
Pray how can You delight, how love to spend
A Life in Woods, and this unwholsome Cave?
'Tis Melancholy, 'tis so like a Grave.
Now would you rather live in Town than here,
And Mens converse, before the Woods prefer;
Come, go with me, I'le get thee better Chear.
Since all must dye, and must resign their Breath,
Nor great, nor little is secure from Death;
Then spend thy days in Pleasure, Mirth and Sport.
And live like One, that Minds his Life is short.
These Words prevail'd upon the Country Mouse,
So she grows jocand strait, and leaves the House,
Longing for those fine things; fō both go on,
Eager whilst now 'twas Night to reach the Town.
'Twas Midnight full; when now the Mice are com[...]
They take a Rich Mans house, a stately Room,
Where Purple Covering shone on Ivory Seats,
And in the Pantry lay whole heaps of Meats,
The sumptuous Relics of his noble treats.
The City Mouse strait seats his country Guest
On Cloath of State, and waits, and carves the Feast
Course after Course, a thousand dainty Things,
And like a Servant, tasts what e're he brings.
The Country Mouse pleas'd with his Bed of State,
And various dainties, blest his change of Fate.
Feeds heartily, when lo the Servants come,
And Dogs rush in and bark about the Room.
Both start, both leave their Beds with eager hast,
Both fly for Life, and hardly 'scape at last.
Then says the Country Mouse, false Joys farewel,
I do not like this Life, my quiet Cell
Is better, I can feast and wanton there,
On Chaff or Acorns, free from Noise and Fear.