For what’s bestowed they awkwardly receive, And always take less freely than they give. The obligation is their highest grief, And never love where they accept relief. So sullen in their sorrow, that ’tis known They’ll rather die than their afflictions own; And if relieved, it is too often true That they’ll abuse their benefactors too; For in distress, their haughty stomach’s such, They hate to see themselves obliged too much. Seldom contented, often in the wrong, Hard to be pleased at all, and never long. If your mistakes their ill opinion gain, No merit can their favour reobtain; And if they’re not vindictive in their fury, ’Tis their unconstant temper does secure ye. Their brain’s so cool, their passion seldom burns, For all’s condensed before the flame returns; The fermentation’s of so weak a matter, The humid damps the fume, and runs it all to water. So, though the inclination may be strong, They’re pleased by fits, and never angry long. Then, if good-nature shows some slender proof, They never think they have reward enough, But, like our modern Quakers of the town, Expect your manners, and return you none. Friendship, th’ abstracted union of the mind, Which all men seek, but very few can find: Of all the nations in the universe, None talk on’t more, or understand it less; For if it does their property annoy, Their property their friendship will destroy. As you discourse them, you shall hear them tell All things in which they think they do excel. No panegyric needs their praise record; An Englishman ne’er wants his own good word. His long discourses generally appear Prologued with his own wond’rous character. But first to illustrate his own good name, He never fails his neighbour to defame; And yet he really designs no wrong— His malice goes no further than his tongue. But pleased to tattle, he delights to rail, To satisfy the lech’ry of a tale. His own dear praises close the ample speech; Tells you how wise he is—that is, how rich: For wealth is wisdom; he that’s rich is wise; And all men learned poverty despise. His generosity comes next, and then Concludes that he’s a true-born Englishman; And they, ’tis known, are generous and free, Forgetting and forgiving injury: Which may be true, thus rightly understood, Forgiving ill turns, and forgetting good. Cheerful in labour when they’ve undertook it, But out of humour when they’re out of pocket. But if their belly and their pocket’s full, They may be phlegmatic, but never dull: And if a bottle does their brains refine, It makes their wit as sparkling as their wine. As for the general vices which we find They’re guilty of, in common with mankind, Satire, forbear, and silently endure; We must conceal the crimes we cannot cure. Nor shall my verse the brighter sex defame, For English beauty will preserve her name, Beyond dispute, agreeable and fair, And modester than other nations are: For where the vice prevails, the great temptation Is want of money more than inclination.