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 report Of some express arrived at court; 110 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 protest 'Tis one to me--'Then tell us, pray, When are the troops to have their pay?' 120 And, though I solemnly declare I know no more than my Lord Mayor, They stand amazed, and think me grown The closest mortal ever known. Thus in a sea of folly toss'd, My choicest hours of life are lost; Yet always wishing to retreat, Oh, could I see my country-seat! There, leaning near a gentle brook, Sleep, or peruse some ancient book, 130 And there in sweet oblivion drown Those cares that haunt the court and town. O charming noons! and nights divine! Or when I sup, or when I dine, My friends above, my folks below, Chatting and laughing all a-row; The beans and bacon set before 'em, The grace-cup served with all decorum: Each willing to be pleased, and please, And even the very dogs at ease! 140 Here no man prates of idle things, How this or that Italian sings, A neighbour's madness, or his spouse's, Or what's in either of the Houses: But something much more our concern, And quite a scandal not to learn: Which is the happier or the wiser, A man of merit, or a miser? Whether we ought to choose our friends, For their own worth, or our own ends? 150 What good, or better, we may call, And what, the very best of all?