Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/48

38 And think all notions too abstracted Are like the ravings of a crackt head; What intercourse of minds can be Betwixt the knight sublime and me, If when I talk, as talk I must, It is but prating to a bust? Where friendship is by Fate design'd, It forms a union in the mind: But here I differ from the knight In every point, like black and white; For none can say that ever yet We both in one opinion met: Not in philosophy, or ale; In state affairs, or planting cale; In rhetorick, or picking straws; In roasting larks, or making laws; In publick schemes, or catching flies; In parliaments, or pudding pies. The neighbours wonder why the knight Should in a country life delight, Who not one pleasure entertains To cheer the solitary scenes: His guests are few, his visits rare; Nor uses time, nor time will spare; Nor rides, nor walks, nor hunts, nor fowls, Nor plays at cards, or dice, or bowls; But, seated in an easy chair, Despises exercise and air. His rural walks he ne'er adorns; Here poor Pomona sits on thorns: And there neglected Flora settles Her bum upon a bed of nettles. Those thankless and officious cares I us'd to take in friends' affairs, From