Classic Poem

Fat , pamper'd Porus , eating for Renown,
In Soups and Sauces melts his Manors down;
Regardless of his Heirs, with mortgag'd Lands,
Buys Hecatombs of Fish and Ortolans;
True Judge of Merit, most disdainful looks
On Chiefs and Patriots when compar'd to Cooks;
With what Delight Pigs whipt to Death he crams,
Or fatten'd Frogs, or Essences of Hams;
For fifty thousand Tongues of Peacocks sighs,
Mix'd with the Brains of Birds of Paradise;
Loud ring the Glasses, powder'd Footmen run,
He eats, drinks, surfeits, still eats, is undone!
Sees the swoln Glutton in terrific State,
Behind his Chair what dire Diseases wait?
There tottering Gout , and white-tongu'd Fever stand,
Big Dropsy , with full Goblets in his Hand,
Asthma thick-panting for short Gasps of Breath,
And Apoplexy , fiercest Friend of Death.
Sweeter the lonely Hermit's simple Food,
Who in lone Caves, or near the rushy Flood,
With eager Appetite, at early Hours,
From maple Dish salubrious Herbs devours:
Soft drowsy Dews at Eve his Temples steep,
And happy Dreams attend his easy Sleep:
Wak'd by the Thrush to neighbouring Vales he goes,
To mark how sucks the Bee, how blooms the Rose;
What latent Juice the trodden Herbage yields,
Wild Nature's Physic in the flowery Fields.
With Temperance footh'd each solitary Day,
Free, innocent, and easy, steals away,
Till Age down bends him to the friendly Grave,
No Fashion's Dupe, no powerful Passion's Slave.