My house a cottage, more

Than palace, and should fitting be
For all my use, no luxury.

My garden painted o'er

With Nature's hand, not Art's; and pleasures yield,
Horace might envy in his Sabine field.

XI.

Thus would I double my life's fading space,
For he that runs it well twice runs his race.
And in this true delight,

These unbought sports, that happy state,
I would not fear nor wish my fate,
But boldly say each night,

To-morrow let my sun his beams display,

Or in clouds hide them; I have lived to-day.

You may see by it I was even then acquainted with the poets (for the conclusion is taken out of Horace) and perhaps it was the immature and immoderate love of them, which stamped first, or rather engraved the characters in me. They were like letters cut in the bark of a young tree, which, with the tree, still grow proportionably. But, how this love came to be produced in me so early, is a hard question: I believe I can tell the particular little chance that filled my head first with such chimes of verse, as have never since left ringing there: for I remember, when I began to read, and take some pleasure in it, there was wont to lie in my mother's parlor, (I know not by what accident, for she herself never in her life read any book but of devotion;) but there was wont to lie Spenser's Works; this I happened to fall upon, and was infinitely delighted with the stories of the knights, and giants, and monsters, and brave houses, which I found everywhere there (though my understanding had little to do with all this) and by degrees, with the tinkling of the rhyme, and dance of the numbers, so that I think I had read him all over before I was twelve years old, and was thus made a poet. With these affections of mind, and my heart wholly set upon letters, I went to the university; but was soon torn from thence by that public

violent storm, which would suffer nothing to stand where it did, but rooted up every plant, even from the princely cedars, to me the hyssop. Yet I had as good fortune as could have befallen me in such a tempest; for I was cast by it into the family of one of the best persons, and into the court of one of the best princesses in the world. Now, though I was here engaged in ways most contrary to the original design of my life; that is, into much company, and no small business, and into a daily sight of greatness, both militant and triumphant, (for that was the state then of the English and the French courts ;) yet all this was so far from altering my opinion, that it only added the confirmation of reason to that which was before but natural inclination. I saw plainly all the paint of that kind of life, the nearer I came to it; and that beauty which I did not fall in love with, when, for aught I knew, it was real, was not like to bewitch, or entice me, when I saw it was adulterate. I met with several great persons whom I liked very well; but could not perceive that any part of their greatness was to be liked or desired, no more than I would be glad or content to be in a storm, though I saw many ships which rid safely and bravely in it. A storm would not agree with my stomach, if it did with my courage; though I was in a crowd of as good company as could be found anywhere, though I was in business of great and honorable trust, though I ate at the best table, and enjoyed the best conveniences for present subsistence that ought to be desired by a man of my condition, in banishment and public distresses; yet I could not abstain from renewing my old school-boy's wish, in a copy of verses to the same effect: Well, then; I now do plainly see,

This busy world and I shall ne'er agree, &c.

And I never then proposed to myself any other advantage from his majesty's happy restoration, but the getting into some moderately convenient retreat in the country, which I thought in that case I might easily have compassed, as well as some others, who, with no greater probabilities or pretences, have arrived to extraor dinary fortunes. But I had before written a shrewd prophecy against myself, and I think Apollo inspired me in the truth, though not in the elegance of it.

Thou neither great at court, nor in the war,

Nor at the Exchange shalt be, nor at the wrangling bar;
Content thyself with the small barren praise,

Which neglected verse does raise, &c.

However, by the failing of the forces which I had expected, I did not quit the design which I had resolved on; I cast myself into it a corpus perdi, without making capitulations, or taking counsel of fortune. But God laughs at man, who says to his soul, Take thy ease: I met presently not only with many little incumbrances and impediments, but with so much sickness (a new misfortune to me) as would have spoiled the happiness of an emperor as well as mine. Yet I do neither repent nor alter my course; Non ego perfidum dixi sacramentum. Nothing shall separate me from a mistress which I have loved so long, and have now at last married; though she neither has brought me a rich portion, nor lived yet so quietly with me as I hoped from her.

Nec vos dulcissima mundi

Nomina vos Musa, Libertas, Otia, Libri,
Hortique, Sylvæque, animâ remanente relinquam.

Nor by me e'er shall you,

You of all names the sweetest and the best,
You Muses, Books, and Liberty, and Rest;
You Gardens, Fields, and Woods forsaken be,
As long as life itself forsakes not me.

340.-THE HAUNCH OF VENISON.

GOLDSMITH.

[A POETICAL EPISTLE ADDRESSED TO LORD CLARE.]

THANKS, my lord, for your venison; for finer or fatter,
Ne'er ranged in a forest, or smoked in a platter;

The haunch was a picture for painters to study,

The fat was so white and the lean was so ruddy;

Though my stomach was sharp, I could scarce help regretting
To spoil such a delicate picture by eating;

I had thoughts in my chambers to place it in view,
To be shown to my friends as a piece of virtù :
As in some Irish houses, where things are so, so,
One gammon of bacon hangs up for a show:

But for eating a rasher of what they take pride in,
They'd as soon think of eating the pan it is fried in.
But hold-let me pause-don't I hear you pronounce
This tale of the bacon 's a damnable bounce?
Well, suppose it a bounce-sure a poet may try
By a bounce now and then to get courage to fly.

But, my lord, it's no bounce; I protest in my turn,
It's a truth, and your lordship may ask Mr. Burn.
To go on with my tale :—as I gazed on the haunch,
I thought of a friend that was trusty and staunch;
So I cut it, and sent it to Reynolds undrest,

To paint it, or eat it, just as he liked best.

Of the neck and the breast I had next to dispose,

"T was a neck and a breast that might rival Monroe's.

But in parting with these I was puzzled again,

With the how, and the who, and the where, and the when.
There's H―d, and C―y, and H―rth, and H—ff,
I think they love venison-I know they love beef.
There's my countryman Higgins-Oh! let him alone
For making a blunder or picking a bone:

But hang it to poets who seldom can eat,

Your very good mutton's a very good treat;

Such dainties to send them their health it might hurt,
It's like sending them ruffles when wanting a shirt.
While thus I debated in reverie centred,

An acquaintance, a friend as he called himself, enter'd;
An underbred fine-spoken fellow was he

And he smiled as he look'd at the venison and me.

"What have we got here?-why, this is good eating! Your own, I suppose-or is it in waiting?"

"Why, whose should it be?" cried I, with a flounce, "I get these things often :" (but that was a bounce) "Some lords, my acquaintance, that settle the nation, Are pleased to be kind, but I hate ostentation."

"If that be the case, then," cried he, very gay, "I'm glad I have taken this house in my way. To-morrow you take a poor dinner with me;

No words-I insist on 't-precisely at three;

We'll have Johnson, and Burke; all the wits will be there; My acquaintance is slight, or I'd ask my Lord Clare.

And now that I think on 't, as I am a sinner,

We wanted this venison to make out the dinner!
What say you-a pasty; it shall, and it must;
And my wife, little Kitty, is famous for crust.
Here, porter-this venison with me to Mile End ;
No stirring, I beg, my dear friend, my dear friend."
Then snatching his hat, he brush'd off like the wind.
And the porter and eatables follow'd behind.

Left alone to reflect, having emptied my shelf,
And "nobody with me at sea but myself,"
Though I could not help thinking my gentleman hasty,
Yet Johnson, and Burke, and a good venison pasty,
Were things that I never disliked in my life,
Though clogg'd with a coxcomb and Kitty his wife.
So next day, in due splendor to make my approach,
I drove to his door in my own hackney coach.

When come to the place where we all were to dine
(A chair-lumber'd closet, just twelve feet by nine),
My friend made me welcome, but struck me quite dumb,
With tidings that Johnson and Burke would not come;
"For I knew it," he cried; "both eternally fail,
The one with his speeches and t'other with Thrale;
But no matter. I'll warrant we'll make up the party
With two full as clever, and ten times as hearty.