Lap-dog and lambkin with black-ftaring eyes,
And parrots with twin cherries in their beak.
Now came the cane from India, fmooth and bright With nature's varnish; fever'd into stripes That interlac'd each other, thefe fupplied Of texture firm a lattice-work, that brac'd The new machine, and it became a chair. But restless was the chair; the back erect Diftrefs'd the weary loins, that felt no ease; The flipp'ry feat betray'd the fliding part
That prefs'd it, and the feet hung dangling down, Anxious in vain to find the distant floor.
These for the rich: the reft, whom fate had plac'd
In modeft mediocrity, content.
With bafe materials, fat on well-tann'd hides,
Obdurate and unyielding, glaffy fmooth,
With here and there a tuft of crimson yarn,
Or fcarlet crewel, in the cushion fix'd;
If cushion might be call'd, what harder feem'd
Than the firm oak of which the frame was form'd
No want of timber then was felt or fear'd
In Albion's happy ifle. The umber ftood
Pond'rous and fix'd by its own maffy weight.
But elbows ftill were wanting; thefe, fome fay,
An alderman of Cripplegate contriv'd;
And fome afcribe th' invention to a priest
Burly and big, and studious of his ease.
But, rude at first, and not with easy flope
Receding wide, they press'd against the ribs,
And bruis'd the fide; and, elevated high,
Taught the rais'd shoulders to invade the ears.
Long time elaps'd or e'er our rugged fires
Complain'd, though incommodiously pent in,
And ill at ease behind. The ladies first
'Gan murmur, as became the fofter sex.
Ingenious fancy, never better pleas'd
Than when employ'd t' accommodate the fair,
Heard the sweet moan with pity, and devis'd
The foft fettee; one elbow at each end,
And in the midft an elbow, it receiv'd,
United yet divided, twain at once.
So fit two kings of Brentford on one throne
And fo two citizens who take the air,
Close pack'd, and fmiling, in a chaife and one,
But relaxation of the languid frame,
By foft recumbency of outstretch'd limbs,
Was blifs referv'd for happier days. So flow
The growth of what is excellent; fo hard
T'attain perfection in this nether world.
Thus firft neceffity invented ftools,
Convenience next fuggefted elbow-chairs,
And luxury th' accomplish'd sora laft.
The nurse fleeps fweetly, hit'd to watch the fick Whom fnoring the difturbs. As fweetly he Who quits the coach-box at the midnight hour To fleep within the carriage more fecure, His legs depending at the open door. Sweet fleep enjoys the curate in his desk, The tedious rector drawling o'er his head; And sweet the clerk below. But neither fleep Of lazy nurse, who fnores the fick man dead, Nor his who quits the box at midnight hour To flumber in the carriage more fecure, Nor fleep enjoy'd by curate in his desk, Nor yet the dozings of the clerk, are sweet, Compar'd with the repofe the SOFA yields.
Oh may 1 live exempted (while I live Guiltless of pamper'd appetite obfcene) From pangs arthritic, that infeft the toe Of libertine excefs. The soFA fuits
gouty limb, 'tis true; but gouty limb, Though on a SOFA, may I never feel: For I have lov'd the rural walk through lanes
Of graffy fwarth, clofe cropt by nibbling sheep,
And skirted thick with intertexture firm
Of thorny boughs; have lov'd the rural walk
O'er hills, through valleys, and by rivers' brink,
E'er fince a truant boy I pafs'd my bounds
T' enjoy a ramble on the banks of Thames;
And still remember, nor without regret,
Of hours that forrow fince has much endear'd,
How oft, my flice of pocket ftore confum'd,
Still hung'ring, pennylefs and far from home,
I fed on fcarlet hips and ftony haws,
Or blufhing crabs, or berries, that imbofs
The bramble, black as jet, or floes austere.
Hard fare! but fuch as boyish appetite
Difdains not; nor the palate, undeprav'd
By culinary arts, unfav'ry deems,
No SOFA then awaited my return;
Nor SOFA then I needed. Youth repairs
His wafted fpirits quickly, by long toil
Incurring fhort fatigue; and, though our years
As life declines fpeed rapidly away,
And not a year but pilfers as he goes
Some youthful grace that age would gladly keep;
A tooth or auburn lock, and by degrees
Their length and colour from the locks they fpare;
Th elaftic fpring of an unwearied foot
That mounts the ftyle with eafe, or leaps the fence,
That play of lungs, inhaling and again
Refpiring freely the fresh air, that makes
Swift pace or steep afcent no toil to me,
Mine have not pilfer'd yet; nor yet impair'd
My relish of fair prospect; scenes that footh'd
Or charm'd me young, no longer young, I find
Still foothing, and of pow'r to charm me still.
And witnefs, dear companion of my walks,
Whose arm this twentieth winter I perceive
Faft lock'd in mine, with pleasure fuch as love,
Confirm'd by long experience of thy worth
And well-tried virtues, could alone inspire-
Witness a joy that thou haft doubled long.
Thou know'ft my praife of nature most fincere,
And that my raptures are not conjur'd up
To ferve occafions of poetic pomp,
But genuine, and art partner of them all.
How oft upon yon eminence our pace
Has flacken'd to a pause, and we have borne
The ruffling wind, scarce conscious that it blew,
While admiration, feeding at the eye,
And still unfated, dwelt upon the scene.
Thence with what pleasure have we just discern'd
The diftant plough flow moving, and befide
His lab'ring team, that fwerv'd not from the track,
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