For though I grant, you've made it well,
You've boil'd it, fir, as hot as hell.
Then raifing high his cloven stump, The Satyr fmote him on the rump.. "Begone, thou double knave, or fool,
"With the fame breath to warm and cool:
Friendship with fuch I never hold
"Who're fo damn'd hot, and fo damn'd cold.
The CIT'S COUNTRY BOX, 1757.
Vos fapere & folos aio bene vivere, quorum,
Confpicitur nitidis fundata pecunia villis.
HE wealthy Cit, grown old in trade,
Now wishes for the rural fhade,
And buckles to his one-horfe chair,
Old Dobbin, or the founder'd mare;
While wedg'd in closely by his fide,
Sits Madam, his unwieldy bride,
With Jacky on a stool before 'em,
And out they jog in due decorum.
Scarce past the turnpike half a mile,
How all the country seems to smile!
And as they flowly jog together,
The Cit commends the road and weather;
While Madam doats upon the trees,
And longs for ev'ry house she fees,
Admires its views, its fituation,
And thus fhe opens her oration.
What fignify the loads of wealth,
Without that richeft jewel, health?
Excufe the fondness of a wife,
Who doats upon your precious life!
Such easeless toil, fuch conftant care,
Is more than human ftrength can bear.
One may obferve it in your face →
Indeed, my dear, you break apace ;
And nothing can your health repair,
But exercife, and country air.
Sir Traffic has a house, you know,
About a mile from Cheney-Row:
He's a good man, indeed 'tis true,
But not fo warm, my dear, as you:
And folks are always apt to fneer
One would not be out-done, my dear!
Sir Traffic's name fo well apply'd Awak'd his brother merchant's pride; And Thrifty, who had all his life Paid utmost deference to his wife,
Confefs'd her arguments had reason,
And by th' approaching summer season,
Draws a few hundreds from the stocks,
And purchases his Country Box.
Some three or four mile out of town,
(An hour's ride will bring you down,)
He fixes on his choice abode,
Not half a furlong from the road:
And fo convenient does it lay,
The stages pass it ev'ry day:
And then fo fnug, fo mighty pretty,
To have an house fo near the city !...
Take but your places at the Boar
You're fet down at the very door.
Well then, suppose them fix'd at last,
White-washing, painting, fcrubbing past,
Hugging themselves in ease and cloyer,
With all the fuss of moving over ;
Lo, a new heap of whims are bred!
And wanton in my lady's head.
Well to be fure, it must be own'd, It is a charming spot of ground;
So sweet a distance for a ride,
And all about fo countrified!
"Twould come to but a trifling price
To make it quite a paradise ;
I cannot bear those nasty rails,
Those ugly broken mouldy pales:
Suppose, my dear, inftead of these,
We build a railing, all Chinese.
Although one hates to be expos'd,
'Tis difmal to be thus inclos'd;
One hardly any object fees
I wish you'd fell those odious trees.
Objects continual paffing by
Were fomething to amuse the eye,
But to be pent within the walls-
One might as well be at St. Paul's.
Our house beholders would adore,
Was there a level lawn before,
Nothing its views to incommode,
But quite laid open to the road;
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