[3]
What fine cascades, what vistoes, might I make,
Fixt in the centre of th' Iernian lake!
There might I sail delighted, smooth and safe,
Beneath the conduct of my good Sir Ralph:[4]
There's not a better steerer in the realm;
I hope, my lord, you'll call him to the helm."--
"Doctor--a glorious scheme to ease your grief!
When cures are cross, a school's a sure relief.
You cannot fail of being happy there,
The lake will be the Lethe of your care:
The scheme is for your honour and your ease:
And, doctor, I'll promote it when you please.
Meanwhile, allowing things below your merit,
Yet, doctor, you've a philosophic spirit;
Your wants are few, and, like your income, small,
And you've enough to gratify them all:
You've trees, and fruits, and roots, enough in store:
And what would a philosopher have more?
You cannot wish for coaches, kitchens, cooks--"
"My lord, I've not enough to buy me books--
Or pray, suppose my wants were all supplied,
Are there no wants I should regard beside?
Whose breast is so unmann'd, as not to grieve,
Compass'd with miseries he can't relieve?
Who can be happy--who should wish to live,
And want the godlike happiness to give?
That I'm a judge of this, you must allow:
I had it once--and I'm debarr'd it now.
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