THE CIT's COUNTRY-BOX, 1757. Robert Lloyd Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T124631 1073 K099398.000 Mendez, Moses. A collection of the most esteemed pieces of poetry: that have appeared for several years. With variety of originals, by the late Moses Mendez, Esq; and other contributors to Dodsley's collection. To which this is intended as a supplement. London printed for Richardson and Urquhart 1767 pp. 62-66. [8],320p. ; 8⁰.

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THE CIT's COUNTRY-BOX , 1757. By ROBERT LLOYD , A.M. Vos sapere & solos aio bene vivere , quorum , Conspicitur nitidis fundata pecunia villis . HOR. THE wealthy cit , grown old in trade , Now wishes for the rural shade , And buckles to his one-horse chair , Old Dobbin , or the founder'd mare ; While wedg'd in closely by his side , Sits madam , his unweildly bride , With Jacky on a stool before 'em , And out they jog in due decorum . Scarce past the turnpike half a mile , How all the country seems to smile ! And as they slowly jog together , The cit commends the road and weather ; While madam doats upon the trees , And longs for ev'ry house she sees , Admires its views , its situation , And thus she opens her oration . What signify the loads of wealth ; Without that richest jewel , health ? Excuse the fondness of a wife , Who doats upon your precious life ! Such easeless toil , such constant care , Is more than human strength can bear . One may observe it in your face — Indeed , my dear , you break apace : And nothing can your health repair , But exercise , and country air . Sir Traffic has a house , you know , About a mile from Cheney-Row : He's a good man , indeed 'tis true , But not so warm , my dear , as you : And folks are always apt to sneer — One would not be out-done , my dear ! Sir Traffic's name so well apply'd Awak'd his brother merchant's pride ; And Thrifty , who had all his life Paid utmost deference to his wife , Confess'd her arguments had reason , And by th' approaching summer season , Draws a few hundreds from the stocks , And purchases his country box . Some three or four mile out of town , ( An hour's ride will bring you down , ) He fixes on his choice abode , Not half a furlong from the road : And so convenient does it lay , The stages pass it ev'ry day : And then so snug , so mighty pretty , To have an house so near the city ! Take but your places at the Boar You're set down at the very door . Well then , suppose them fix'd at last , White-washing , painting , scrubbing past , Hugging themselves in ease and clover , With all the fuss of moving over ; Lo , a new heap of whims are bred ! And wanton in my lady's head . Well to be sure , it must be own'd , It is a charming spot of ground ; So sweet a distance for a ride , And all about so countrified ! 'Twould come to but a trifling price To make it quite a paradise ; I cannot bear those nasty rails , Those ugly broken mouldy pales : Suppose , my dear , instead of these , We build a railing , all Chinese , Although one hates to be expos'd , 'Tis dismal to be thus inclos'd ; One hardly any object sees — I wish you'd fell those odious trees . Objects continual passing by Were something to amuse the eye , But to be pent within the walls — One might as well be at St. Paul's . Our house beholders would adore , Was there a level lawn before , Nothing its views to incommode , But quite laid open to the road ; While ev'ry trav'ler in amaze , Should on our little mansion gaze , And pointing to the choice retreat , Cry , that's Sir Thrifty's country seat . No doubt her arguments prevail , For madam's TASTE can never fail . Blest age ! when all men may procure The title of a connoisseur ; When noble and ignoble herd Are govern'd by a single word ; Though , like the royal German dames , It bears an hundred Christian names ; As Genius , Fancy , Judgment , Goût , Whim , Caprice , Je-ne scai-quoi , Virtù : Which appellations all describe TASTE , and the modern tasteful tribe . Now bricklay'rs , carpenters , and joiners , With Chinese artists , and designers , Produce their schemes of alteration , To work this wond'rous reformation . The useful dome , which secret stood , Embosom'd in the yew-tree's wood , The trav'ler with amazement sees A temple , Gothic , or Chinese , With many a bell , and tawdry rag on , And crested with a sprawling dragon ; A wooden arch is bent astride A ditch of water , four foot wide , With angles , curves , and zigzag lines , From Halfpenny's exact designs . In front , a level lawn is seen , Without a shrub upon the green , Where Taste would want its first great law , But for the skulking , sly ha-ha , By whose miraculous assistance , You gain a prospect two fields distance . And now from Hyde-Park Corner come The gods of Athens , and of Rome . Here squabby Cupids take their places , With Venus , and the clumsy graces : Apollo there , with aim so clever , Stretches his leaden bow for ever ; And there , without the pow'r to fly , Stands fix'd a tip-toe Mercury . The villa thus completely grac'd , All own , that Thrifty has a taste ; And madam's female friends , and cousins , With common-council-men , by dozens , Flock ev'ry Sunday to the feat , To stare about them , and to eat .