Imitation of Part of the Sixth Satire of the Second Book of Horace. 1714

I often wish'd that I had clear,For life, six hundred pounds a-year,A handsome house to lodge a friend,A river at my garden's end,A terrace walk, and half a roodOf land, set out to plant a wood.Well, now I have all this and more,I ask not to increase my store;But should be perfectly content,Could I but live on this side Trent;Nor cross the channel twice a-year,To spend six months with statesmen here.I must by all means come to town,'Tis for the service of the crown."Lewis, the Dean will be of use;Send for him up, take no excuse."The toil, the danger of the seas,Great ministers ne'er think of these;Or let it cost a hundred pound,No matter where the money's found,It is but so much more in debt,And that they ne'er consider'd yet."Good Mr. Dean, go change your gown,Let my lord know you're come to town."I hurry me in haste away,Not thinking it is levee-day;And find his honour in a pound,Hemm'd by a triple circle round,Chequer'd with ribbons blue and green:How should I thrust myself between?Some wag observes me thus perplex'd,And, smiling, whispers to the next,"I thought the Dean had been too proud,To justle here among a crowd!"Another, in a surly fit,Tells me I have more zeal than wit."So eager to express your love,You ne'er consider whom you shove,But rudely press before a duke."I own I'm pleased with this rebuke,And take it kindly meant, to showWhat I desire the world should know.I get a whisper, and withdraw;When twenty fools I never sawCome with petitions fairly penn'd,Desiring I would stand their friend.This humbly offers me his case;That begs my interest for a place;A hundred other men's affairs,Like bees, are humming in my ears."To-morrow my appeal comes on;Without your help, the cause is gone--""The duke expects my lord and you,About some great affair, at two--""Put my Lord Bolingbroke in mind,To get my warrant quickly sign'd:Consider, 'tis my first request."--Be satisfied I'll do my best:Then presently he falls to tease,"You may for certain, if you please;I doubt not if his lordship knew---And Mr. Dean, one word from you----"'Tis (let me see) three years and more,(October next it will be four,)Since Harley bid me first attend,And chose me for an humble friend;Would take me in his coach to chat,And question me of this and that;As "What's o'clock?" And, "How's the wind?""Whose chariot's that we left behind?"Or gravely try to read the linesWrit underneath the country signs;And mark at Brentford how they spellHear is good Eal and Bear to cell.Or, "Have you nothing new to-dayTo shew from Parnell, Pope and Gay?"Such tattle often entertainsMy lord and me as far as Staines,As once a-week we travel downTo Windsor, and again to town;Where all that passes inter nosMight be proclaim'd at Charing-cross.Yet some I know with envy swell,Because they see me used so well:"How think you of our friend the Dean?I wonder what some people mean!My lord and he are grown so great,Always together, tête-à-tête;What! they admire him for his jokes?--See but the fortune of some folks!"There flies about a strange reportOf mighty news arrived at court:I'm stopp'd by all the fools I meet,And catechised in every street."You, Mr. Dean, frequent the great:Inform us, will the emperor treat?Or do the prints and papers lie?"Faith, sir, you know as much as I."Ah, Doctor, how you love to jest!'Tis now no secret"--I protestIt's one to me--"Then tell us, pray,When are the troops to have their pay?"And, though I solemnly declareI know no more than my lord mayor,They stand amazed, and think me grownThe closest mortal ever known.Thus in a sea of folly toss'd,My choicest hours of life are lost:Yet always wishing to retreat,O, could I see my country-seat!There leaning near a gentle brook,Sleep, or peruse some ancient book;And there in sweet oblivion drownThose cares that haunt the court and town.