A Satire

Adieu to all the follies of the town,
Where noise and hurry all enjoyment drown,
Where vice o'er virtue has pre-eminence,
And nonsense gets the upper hand of sense
Where honesty and honour are oppress'd;
Where but the name of virtue is profess'd,
While virtue's self is grown a very jest.

There fops in state and pomp securely ride,
And view the crowd beneath with scorn and pride;
Or born to riches, or the fools of fate,
They know no virtue but a good estate.
To them the wise and good must humbly bow,
And meet, perhaps, a stern and scornful brow;
While pandars, knaves, and parasites more bold
Fawn at their feet, and fleece them of their gold.

There all things borrow'd shapes and dresses wear,
And no-one's really what he would appear.
Merit is laugh'd at, modesty despis'd,
The knave and wealthy fool alike are priz'd.
Contempt and pride on ev'ry face is seen,
And hatred lurks beneath the formal grin.

They'll wound their dearest friends in sport and play
For reputation is their darling prey.
Nor can they bear to see another rise,
But look on merit with invidious eyes,
For be an action ne'er so just or good,
'Tis soon misconstru'd and misunderstood.
The sly objection and malicious sneer
Can make a worthy soul a fiend appear.

And yet so double are their tongues and hearts,
That while they wound you with their sland'rous darts,
If you perchance appear they seem to fly,
And meet you in a treach'rous ecstasy;
Embrace you in their false, deceitful arms,
While ev'n your faults are now transform'd to charms.
You simply take the flatt'rers for your friends,
And wish and study how to make amends;
But the same moment that your back is turn'd,
Again you're laugh'd at, and again you're scorn'd.

Here, let me, then, forget the noisy town,
My rest of life with solid pleasures crown.
Kind nature here does joys untainted yield
In ev'ry grove, in ev'ry flow'ry field.
A thousand various sweets she does present,
To bless the mind with undisturb'd content.
In these blest shades for ever let me stay,
While the soft moments gently glide away.
No care, no tumult shall my peace molest;
Storms may disturb the world, but not my rest.