Hobson's choice a poem in answer to The choice / written by a Person of quality.
Person of quality.
1700
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A44028
Wing H2278
ESTC R40993
19542708
ocm 19542708
109103
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Hobson's choice a poem in answer to The choice / written by a Person of quality.
Person of quality.
Brown, Thomas, 1663-1704.
8 p.
Printed and sold by John Nutt ...,
London :
M DCC [1700]
"Attributed to Thomas Brown in Wrenn Catalogue"--NUC pre-1956 imprints.
"The choice" was written by John Pomfret.
Reproduction of original in the University of Illinois (Urbana-Champaign Campus). Library.
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eng
Pomfret, John, 1667-1702. -- Choice.
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Hobson's
Choice
.
A
POEM
,
IN
ANSWER
TO
THE
CHOICE
,
Written
by
a
Person
of
Quality
.
LONDON
:
Printed
,
and
Sold
by
Iohn
Nutt
,
ne●●
Stationers-Hall
.
M.
DCC
.
Hobson's
Choice
.
A
POEM
.
SInce
Heaven
denies
us
liberty
of
Choice
,
Why
should
a
Man
(
for
God-sake
)
make
a
noise
?
I
'll
never
whine
into
a
Golden
Wish
,
Nor
labour
after
Flying
Happiness
:
Nor
take
the
pains
to
Curse
my
backward
Fate
,
Or
to
the
Goddess
Fortune
doff
my
Hat
:
But
if
my
Fate
do's
lend
me
Breath
so
long
,
To
make
an
end
of
this
Authentick
Song
,
You
'll
hear
it
;
or
if
not
,
I
'll
hold
my
Tongue
.
For
't
is
a
Jest
to
Rail
at
adverse
Fate
,
A
Wise
Man's
Merry
,
do's
Congratulate
,
And
will
Enjoy
himself
in
Every
State.
If
He
be
doom'd
to
Knighthood
,
or
a
Gown
,
It
does
affect
his
Heel's
,
but
not
his
Crown
:
For
why
should
he
have
Windmills
in
his
Head
,
Because
the
Bishop
,
or
the
King
,
has
said
,
Rise
up
Sir
Richard
,
or
Hey-jingo
Priest
Appear
,
and
shew
the
World
a
New-made
Vest
?
Prelates
and
Princes
too
are
oft
mistaken
;
'T
is
not
what
They
,
but
what
One's
self
does
make
One.
Then
should
a
Wise
Man
mind
the
random
Talk
,
Of
those
Iocose
and
Elevated
Folk
,
And
so
be
bubbled
of
his
Native
Will
,
By
which
he
is
just
what
he
would
be
still
?
Fantastique
Fortune
may
do
what
she
can
,
She
'll
leave
me
as
she
finds
me
,
still
a
Man
;
Or
if
she
please
to
let
me
but
alone
,
I
shall
be
Hobson
then
,
and
that
's
all
one
:
And
tho'
she
most
Delights
to
make
us
Apes
,
And
gives
us
every
Day
New
several
Shapes
;
Nicknames
us
Lords
,
and
Citts
,
and
Mountebanks
,
And
makes
us
play
abroad
her
sensless
Pranks
,
A
Wise
Man
knows
himself
still
under
all
,
And
ne'er
forgets
his
true
Original
:
The
Man
Appears
beneath
the
Ass's
Skin
;
And
Fortune
wears
without
,
himself
within
.
But
what
if
froward
Fortune
looks
awry
?
Why
,
if
she
be
Cross-grain'd
,
e'en
so
she
may
.
What
Man
of
S
〈…〉
would
care
a
Straw
for
that
?
〈…〉
ur
than
her
Hate
?
If
I
deserve
her
Friendship
,
she
's
to
blame
,
And
the
Reproach
Asperses
most
the
Dame.
For
who
that
sees
a
Muse's
Son
in
Rags
,
That
up
and
down
in
Rime
for
Vittle
begs
,
Do's
not
with
utmost
Indignation
say
,
Fortune
's
a
Iade
,
but
He
's
an
honest
Boy
?
This
Dons
,
and
Men
of
Quality
,
will
own
,
Who
Buy
his
Wit
,
because
themselves
have
None
.
Mean
time
the
Bard
reels
on
,
and
ne'er
Reflects
,
His
Poverty
his
Liberty
Protects
.
And
well
he
knows
't
were
Mad
in
him
to
Wish
,
For
Country
Seats
,
or
Landed
Happiness
;
That
Prayer
would
ne'er
obtain
among
the
Gods
;
For
't
were
enough
to
set
the
Stars
at
Odds.
His
Planet
governs
with
a
Liberal
force
,
And
unrestrain'd
,
abides
no
stated
Course
,
But
freely
all
about
the
Sky
it
reels
,
As
he
below
its
merry
Influence
feels
.
By
Heaven
,
I
'd
rather
be
just
what
I
am
,
Plain
Hobson
,
than
be
painted
with
the
Sham
Appearance
of
the
Gaudy
Fortunate
,
Who
have
less
Happiness
,
and
more
Crevat
.
For
Happiness
would
be
a
Paradox
,
If
't
were
Enjoyed
alike
by
Wits
and
Blocks
.
But
Various
Men
pursue
the
Various
Notion
Of
Happiness
,
according
to
the
Portion
They
have
of
Sense
,
which
is
the
Gift
of
Fate
,
And
not
to
be
inferr'd
from
an
Estate
,
No
more
than
Wisdom
from
a
broad-brim'd
Hat.
And
yet
it
is
the
ardent
wish
of
One
,
That
was
,
belike
,
both
Bred
and
Born
in
Town
,
O
that
hard
by
I
had
a
private
Seat
,
Fine
as
my
Hopes
,
as
my
Ambition
Great
,
That
all
the
Town
might
come
and
hear
me
Bleat
,
And
make
new
Wishes
for
a
fresh
Retreat
.
So
Wishes
still
vain
Wishes
must
succeed
,
And
those
again
beget
an
Endless
Breed
,
And
all
at
last
must
stray
without
a
Head
;
For
who
that
has
that
Engine
on
his
Neck
,
Whose
heft
do's
not
the
weak
Supporter
break
,
Would
ever
Ramble
from
himself
so
far
,
And
what
he
has
not
here
,
to
hunt
for
there
?
As
if
when
he
his
Wench
and
Stream
had
found
,
His
Happiness
would
not
in
both
be
drown'd
:
For
who
can
bound
the
Cravings
of
his
Thought
,
When
it
exceeds
the
brims
of
what
he
's
got
?
The
Fancied
Ground-plot
,
and
the
Flowing
Stream
,
Content
him
better
as
they
are
his
Theam
,
Than
if
he
view'd
his
disappointed
Face
in
them
.
Then
home
recall
thy
Wandring
Thoughts
agen
,
Make
that
their
Mansion
which
was
once
their
Den
:
There
let
them
form
Domestick
Happiness
,
With
less
Applause
,
but
with
much
more
Success
,
And
with
inverted
Wit
the
Poet
truly
Bless
.
For
I
'm
the
happy
Man
,
when
all
is
said
,
Who
live
at
Home
,
my
House
upon
my
Head
;
Who
never
lengthen
to
a
foreign
Wish
,
But
size
my
Porrage
always
to
my
Dish
;
And
unaffected
both
with
Time
and
Place
,
Behold
th'
uneven
World
with
even
Face
.
Instant
Fruition
Cheers
my
aged
Pate
,
And
Marks
of
Plenty
shine
upon
my
Hat.
Tho'
l
'm
not
Rich
,
I
have
the
Ready
Mess
,
To
stop
my
Mouth
,
e'er
Gutts
are
in
distress
:
Not
that
I
tune
my
Speculative
Brain
,
Just
to
the
Croacking
of
their
Grosser
Strain
:
But
if
they
Cry
aloud
,
I
've
Bread
and
Cheese
,
And
they
shall
hold
their
Peace
for
such
as
these
.
Custard
,
and
Nicer
Diet
,
I
forbid
,
And
Sacred
Pies
unviolated
Lid.
When
Supper
's
done
,
I
never
Dream
of
want
For
times
to
come
,
Times
which
I
also
ha'n't
;
But
in
the
Corner
when
I
've
sat
a
while
,
Pleas'd
with
my self
,
I
give
the
World
a
smile
,
Then
my
own
Pace
away
I
go
to
Bed
,
Stretch
my self
out
,
and
Sleep
as
I
were
Dead
.
FINIS
.
Notes, typically marginal, from the original text
Notes for div A44028-e100
The
Choice
,
P.
3.
P.
3.
and
6.