“Wretch that I am! since to thy Fortune bound, “What plan, what project with success is crown’d? “I, who a thousand secret Arts possess, “Who every Rank approach with right Address; “Who’ve loos’d a Guinea from a Miser’s Chest, “And worm’d his Secret from a Traitor’s Breast; “Thence Gifts and Gains collecting, great and small, “Have brought to thee and thou consum’st them all; “For Want like thine, a Bog without a Base, “Ingulph’st all gains, I gather for the Place; “Feeding, unfill’d; destroying, undestroy’d; “It craves for ever and is ever void:-- “Wretch that I am! what Misery have I found, “Since my sure Craft was to thy Calling bound?” ‘Oh! vaunt of worthless Arts,’ the Swain replied, Scowling Contempt, ‘how pitiful this Pride! ‘What are these specious Gifts, these paltry Gains, ‘But base Rewards for ignominious Pains? ‘With all thy Tricking, still for Bread we strive, ‘Thine is, proud Wretch! the Care that cannot thrive, ‘By all thy boasted Skill and baffled Hooks, ‘Thou gain’st no more than Students by their Books; ‘No more than I for my poor Deeds am paid, ‘Whom none can blame, will help, or dare upbraid. ‘Call this our Need, a Bog that all devours; ‘Then what thy petty Arts, but Summer-Flowers, ‘Gaudy and mean and serving to betray ‘The Place, they make unprofitably gay? ‘Who know it not, some useless Beauties see; ‘But ah! to prove it was reserv’d for me.’ Unhappy State! that, in Decay of Love, Permits harsh Truth his Errors to disprove: While he remains, to wrangle and to jar, Is friendly Tournament not fatal War; Love in his Play will borrow Arms of Hate, Anger and Rage, Upbraiding and Debate; And by his Power the desperate Weapons thrown, Become as safe and pleasant as his own; But left by him, their Natures they assume, And fatal, in their poisoning Force, become. Time fled, and now the Swain compell’d to see New Cause for Fear--‘Is this thy Thrift?’ quoth he. To whom the Wife with cheerful voice replied:-- “Thou moody Man, lay all thy Fears aside, “I’ve seen a Vision;--they from whom I came, “A Daughter promise, promise Wealth and Fame; “Born with my Features, with my Arts, yet she} “Shall patient, pliant, persevering be, } “And in thy better Ways resemble thee. } “The Fairies round shall at her Birth attend, “The Friend of all in all shall find a Friend, “And save that one sad Star that Hour must gleam “On our fair Child, how glorious were my Dream!” This heard the Husband and in surly smile, Aim’d at Contempt, but yet he hop’d the while; For as when sinking, wretched Men are found, To catch at Rushes rather than be drown’d; So on a Dream our Peasant plac’d his Hope, And found that Rush as valid as a Rope.