THE CHOICE. A POEM.  
By a Person of Quality.  
LONDON: Printed, and are to be sold by I. Nutt, near Stationers-Hall, MDCC.   

THE CHOICE. A POEM.   

THE CHOICE.  

IF Heaven the grateful Liberty would give,  
That I might choose my Method how to live:  
And all those Hours propitious Fate should lend,  
In blissful Ease and Satisfaction spend.   

Near some fair Town I'd have a private Seat,  
Built Uniform, not little, nor too great:  
Better, if on a rising Ground it stood,  
Fields on this side, on that a Neighbouring Wood  
It should within no other Things contain,  
But what are Useful, Necessary, Plain:  
Methinks, 'tis Nauseous, and I'd ne'er endure  
The needless Pomp of gaudy Furniture:  
A little Garden, grateful to the Eye,  
And a cool Rivulet run Murmuring by:  
On whose delicious Banks a stately Row  
Of shady limes, or Sycamores, should grow.  
At th' end of which a silent Study placed,  
Should with the Noblest Authors there be graced.  
Horace and Virgil, in whose mighty Lines,  
Immortal Wit, and solid Learning Shines.  
Sharp juvenal, and amorous Ovid too,  
Who all the turns of Love's soft Passion knew:  
He, that with Judgement reads his Charming Lines,  
In which strong Art, with stronger Nature joins,  
Must grant, his Fancy does the best Excel:  
His Thoughts so tender, and expressed so well;  
With all those Moderns, Men of steady Sense,  
Esteemed for Learning, and for Eloquence:  
In some of These, as Fancy should advise,  
I'd always take my Morning Exercise.  
For sure, no Minutes bring us more Content,  
Than those in pleasing useful Studies spent.   

I'd have a Clear and Competent Estate,  
That I might live genteel, but not Great.  
As much as I could moderately spend,  
A little more sometimes t'oblige a Friend.  
Nor should the Sons of Poverty Repine  
Too much at Fortune, they should taste of Mine;  
And all that Objects of true Pity were,  
Should be relieved with what my Wants could spare;  
For what our Maker has too largely given,  
Should be returned in gratitude to Heaven.  
A frugal Plenty should my Table spread,  
With healthful, not luxurious Dishes, fed:  
Enough to satisfy, and something more  
To feed the Stranger, and the Neighbouring Poor.  
Strong Meat indulges Vice, and pampering Food  
Creates Diseases, and inflames the Blood.  
But what's sufficient to make Nature Strong,  
And the bright Lamp of Life continue long,  
I'd freely take, and as I did possess  
The bounteous Author of my Plenty bless.   

I'd have a little Cellar, Cool, and Neat,  
With Humming Ale, and Virgin Wine replete.  
Wine whets the Wit, improves its Native Force,  
And gives a pleasant Flavour to Discourse;  
By making all our Spirits Debonair,  
Throws off the Lees, the Sedement of Care.  
But as the greatest Blessing Heaven lends  
May be debauched, and serve ignoble Ends;  
So, but too oft, the Grapes refreshing Juice,  
Does many mischievous Effects produce.  
My House, should not such rude Disorders know,  
As from high Drinking consequently flow.  
Nor would I use what was so kindly given,  
To the dishonour of Indulgent Heaven.  
If any Neighbour came he should be free,  
Used with respect, and not Uneasy be,  
In my Retreat, or to himself, or me.  
What Freedom, Prudence, and Right Reason give,  
All Men, may with Impunity receive:  
But the least swerving from their Rules too much;  
For what's forbidden Us, 'tis Death to touch.  
That Life might be more comfortable yet,  
And all my Joys refined, sincere and great,  
I'd choose two Friends, whose Company would be  
A great Advance to my Felicity.  
Well born, of Humours suited to my own;  
Discreet, and Men as well as Books have known.  
Brave, Generous, Witty, and exactly free  
From lose Behaviour, or Formality.  
Airy, and Prudent, Merry, but not Light,  
Quick in discerning, and in Judging Right;  
Secret they should be, faithful to their Trust,  
In Reasoning Cool, Strong, Temperate and Just.  
Obliging, Open, without huffing, Brave;  
Brisk in gay Talking, and in sober Grave.  
Close in Dispute, but not tenacious, tried  
By solid Reason, and let that decide;  
Not prone to Lust, Revenge, or envious Hate;  
Nor busy Meddlers with Intrigues of State.  
Strangers to Slander, and sworn Foes to spite,  
Not Quarrelsome, but Stout enough to Fight:  
Loyal and Pious, Friends to Caesar true  
As dying Martyrs to their Maker too.  
In their Society I could not miss,  
A permanent, sincere, substantial Bliss.   

Would bounteous Heaven once more indulge, I'd choose  
(For, who would so much Satisfaction lose,  
As Witty Nymphs in Conversation give)  
Near some obliging Modest-Fair to live;  
For there's that sweetness in a Female Mind,  
Which in a Man's we cannot find;  
That by a secret, but a powerful Art,  
Winds up the Spring of Life, and does impart  
Fresh Vital Heat to the transported Heart.  
I'd have her Reason, and her Passions sway,  
Easy in Company, in private Gay.  
Coy to a Fop, to the Deserving free,  
Still constant to herself, and just to me.  
A Soul she should have for great Actions fit,  
Prudence, and Wisdom to direct her Wit.  
Courage to look bold danger in the Face,  
No Fear, but only to be proud, or base:  
Quick to advise by an Emergence pressed,  
To give good Counsel, or to take the best.  
I'd have th' Expressions of her Thoughts be such,  
She might not seem Reserved, nor talk too much;  
That shows a want of Judgement, and of Sense:  
More than enough, is but Impertinence.  
Her Conduct Regular, her Mirth refined,  
Civil to Strangers, to her Neighbour's kind.  
Averse to Vanity, Revenge, and Pride,  
In all the Methods of Deceit untried:  
So faithful to her Friend, and good to all,  
No Censure might upon her Actions fall.  
Then would even Envy be compelled to say,  
She goes the least of Womankind astray.   

To this fair Creature I'd sometimes retire,  
Her Conversation would new Joys inspire,  
Give Life an Edge so keen, no surly Care  
Would venture to assault my Soul, or dare  
Near my Retreat to hid one secret Snare.  
But so Divine, so Noble a Repast,  
I'd seldom, and with Moderation taste.  
For highest Cordials all their Virtue lose,  
By a too frequent, and too bold an use;  
And what would cheer the Spirits in distress,  
Ruins our Health when taken to Excess.   

I'd be concerned in no litigious Jar,  
Beloved by all, not vainly popular:  
Whate'er Assistance I had power to bring  
T' oblige my Country, or to serve my King,  
Whenever they called, I'd readily afford,  
My Tongue, my Pen, my Counsel, or my Sword.  
Law Suits I'd shun with as much Studious Care,  
As I would Dens, where hungry Lions are;  
And rather put up Injuries, than be  
A Plague to him, who'd be a Plague to me.  
I value Quiet, at a Price too great,  
To give for my Revenge so dear a Rate:  
For what do we by all our Bustle gain,  
But counterfeit Delight for real Pain.   

If Heaven a date of many years would give,  
Thus I'd in Pleasure, Ease, and Plenty live.  
And as I near approached the Verge of Life,  
Some kind Relation (for I'd have no Wife)  
Should take upon him all my Worldly Care,  
While I did for a better State prepare.  
Then I'd not be with any trouble vexed,  
Nor have the Evening of my Days perplexed.  
But by a silent, and a peaceful Death,  
Without a Sigh, Resign my Aged Breath:  
And when committed to the Dust, I'd have  
Few Tears, but Friendly, dropped into my Grave.  
Then would my Exit so propitious be,  
All Men would wish to live and die like me.   
FINIS.