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Still shall each returning season
Sufficient for our wishes give;
For we will live a life of reason,
And that's the only life to live.

Through youth and age in love excelling,
We'll hand in hand together tread;
Sweet fmiling peace fhall crown our dwelling,
And babes, sweet smiling babes our bed.

How should I love the pretty creatures,
While round my knees they fondly clung
To fee them look their mother's features,
To hear them lifp their mother's tongue.

And when with envy time transported,
Shall think to rob us of our joys,
You'll in your girls again be courted,
And I'll go wooing in my boys.

THE

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EAR Chloe, while the bufy crowd,
The
The vain, the wealthy, and the proud,
In folly's maze advance;

Tho' fingularity and pride

Be call'd our choice, we'll step afide,
Nor join the giddy dance.

From the gay world we'll oft retire
To our own family and fire,

Where love our hours employs;

No noify neighbour enters here,
No intermeddling stranger near,
To fpoil our heart-felt joys.

If folid happiness we prize,
Within our breaft this jewel lies;

And they are fools who roam:

The world has nothing to beftow,
From our ownselves our joys must flow,

And that dear hut, our home.

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Of reft was Noah's dove bereft,
When with impatient wing fhe left
That fafe retreat, the ark;

Giving her vain excursion o'er,
The disappointed bird once more
Explor'd the facred bark.

Tho' fools fpurn Hymen's gentle pow'rs,
We, who improve his golden hours,
By sweet experience know,

That marriage, rightly understood,
Gives to the tender and the good
A paradife below.

Our babes fhall richest comforts bring;
If tutor'd right, they'll prove a fpring,
Whence pleafures ever rise :

We'll form their minds with ftudious care,
To all that's manly, good, and fair,
And train them for the skies.

While they our wifeft hours engage,
They'll joy our youth, fupport or age,
And crown our hoary hairs:

They'll grow in virtue ev'ry day,
And thus our fondeft loves repay,

And recompenfe our cares.

No

No borrow'd joys! they're all our own,
While to the world we live unknown,
Or by the world forgot :

Monarchs! we envy not your state,
We look with pity on the great,
And blefs our humbler lot.

Our portion is not large, indeed;
But then, how little do we need!
For Nature's calls are few:

In this the art of living lies,
To want no more than may fuffice,
And make that little do.

We'll therefore relifh with content
Whate'er kind Providence has fent,
Nor aim beyond our pow'r;
For if our stock be very small,
'Tis prudence to enjoy it all,
Nor lose the present hour.

To be refign'd, when ills betide,
Patient, when favours are deny'd,

And pleas'd with favours giv'n;
Dear Chloe, this is wifdom's part,
This is that incenfe of the heart,
Whose fragrance smells to heav'n.

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We'll afk no long protracted treat, (Since winter life is feldom tweet ;) But when our feaft is o'er,

Grateful from table we'll arife,

Nor grudge our fons with envious eyes,
The relicks of our store.

Thus hand in hand thro' life we'll go;
Its checker'd paths of joy and woe

With cautious fteps we'll tread;
Quit its vain scenes without a tear,
Without a trouble or a fear,

And mingle with the dead.

While confcience, like a faithful friend,
Shall thro' the gloomy vale attend,
And cheer our dying breath;
Shall, when all other comforts cease,
Like a kind angel whisper peace,

And smooth the bed of death.

L'ALLEGRO.

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