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Since then, with few associates, in remote

Defend me therefore, common sense, say I,
And silent woods, I wander, far from those From reveries so airy, from the toil
My former partners of the peopled scene; Of dropping buckets into empty wells,
With few associates, and not wishing more.

And growing old in drawing nothing up!
Here much I ruminate, as much I may,

“ 'T were well,” says one sage erudite, profound, With other views of men and manners now Terribly arch'd, and aquiline his nose, Than once, and others of a life to come.

And overbuilt with most impending brows, I see that all are wand'rers, gone astray

• 'T'were well, could you permit the World to live Each in his own delusion; they are lost

As the World pleases: what's the World to you ?"
In chase of fancied happiness, still woo'd

Much. I was born of woman, and drew milk
And never won. Dream after dream ensues; As sweet as charity from human breasts.
And still they dream, that they shall still succeed, I think, articulate, I laugh and weep,
And still are disappointed. Rings the world And exercise all functions of a man.
With the vain stir. I sum up half mankind, How then should I and any man that lives
And add two-thirds of the remaining half,

Be strangers to each other ? Pierce my vein,
And find the total of their hopes and fears

Take of the crimson stream meand'ring there,
Dreams, empty dreams. The million flit as gay, And catechize it well : apply thy glass,
As if created only like the fly,

Search it, and prove now if it be not blood
That spreads his motley wings in th' eye of noon, Congenial with thine own; and, if it be,
To sport their season, and be seen no more. What edge of subtlety canst thou suppose
The rest are sober dreamers, grave and wise, Keen enough, wise and skilful as thou art,
And pregnant with discov'ries new and rare. To cut the link of brotherhood, by which
Some write a narrative of wars, and feats

One common Maker bound me to the kind ? Of heroes little known; and call the rant

True, I am no proficient, I confess, A history: describe the man, of whom

In arts like yours. I cannot call the swift His own coëvals took but little note,

And perilous lightnings from the angry clouds,
And paint his person, character, and views,

And bid them hide themselves in earth beneath ;
As they had known him from his mother's womb. I cannot analyze the air, nor catch
They disentangle from the puzzled skein,

The parallax of yonder lum'nous point,
In which obscurity has wrapp'd them up,

That seems half-quench'd in the immense abyss : The threads of politic and shrewd design,

Such pow'rs I boast not-neither can I rest
That ran through all his purposes, and charge

A silent witness of the headlong rage,
His mind with meanings that he never had, Or heedless folly, by which thousands die,
Or, having, kept conceal'd. Some drill and bore Bone of my bone, and kindred souls to mine.
The solid earth, and from the strata there

God never meant, that man should scale the
Extract a register, by which we learn,

That he who made it, and reveal'd its date By strides of human wisdom, in his works
To Moses, was mistaken in its age.

Though wondrous: he commands us in his word
Some, more acute, and more industrious still, To seek him rather, where his mercy shines.
Contrive creation; travel nature up

The mind, indeed, enlighten'd from above,
To the sharp peak of her sublimest height, Views him in all; ascribes to the grand cause
And tell us whence the stars; why some are fix'd, The grand effect; acknowledges with joy
And planetary some; what gave them first His manner, and with rapture tastes his style.
Rotation, from what fountain flow'd their light. But never yet did philosophic tube,
Great contest follows, and much learned dust That brings the planets home into the eye
Involves the combatants; each claiming truth, Of Observation, and discovers, else
And truth disclaiming both. And thus they spend Not visible, his family of worlds,
The little wick of life's poor shallow lamp

Discover him, that rules them; such a veil
In playing tricks with nature, giving laws Hangs over mortal eyes, blind from the birth,
To distant worlds, and trifling in their own. And dark in things divine. Full often too
Is 't not a pity now, that tickling rheums

Our wayward intellect, the more we learn
Should ever tease the lungs, and blear the sight or nature, overlooks her author more;
Of oracles like these? Great pity too,

From instrumental causes proud to draw
That having wielded th' elements, and built Conclusions retrograde, and mad mistake.
A thousand systems, each in his own way,

But if his word once teach us, shoot a ray
They should go out in fume, and be forgot! Through all the heart's dark chambers, and reveal
Ah! what is life thus spent ? and what are they Truths undiscern'd but by that holy light,
But frantic, who thus spend it? all for smoke- Then all is plain. Philosophy, baptiz'd
Eternity for bubbles proves at last

In the pure fountain of eternal love,
A senseless bargain. When I see such games Has eyes indeed ; and viewing all she sees
Play'd by the creatures of a Pow'r who swears As meant to indicate a God to man,
That he will judge the Earth, and call the fool Gives him his praise, and forfeits not her own.
To a sharp reck’ning, that has liv'd in vain ; Learning has borne such fruit in other days
And when I weigh this seeming wisdom well, On all her branches : piety has found
And prove it in the infallible result

Friends in the friends of science, and true pray'r
So hollow and so false_I feel my heart

Has flow'd from lips wet with Castalian dews. Dissolve in pity, and account the learn'd,

Such was thy wisdom, Newton, childlike sage! If this be learning, most of all deceiv'd.

Sagacions reader of the works of God, Great crimes alarm the conscience, but it sleeps, And in his word sagacious. Such too thine, While thoughtful man is plausibly amus’d. Milton, whose genius had angelic wings,

And fed on manna! And such thine, in whom And clamors of the field ?-Detested sport
Our British Themis gloried with just cause, That owes its pleasures to another's pain;
Immortal Hale! for deep discernment prais'd, "That feeds upon the sobs and dying shrieks
And sound integrity, not more than fam'd Of harmless nature, dumb but yet endued
For sanctity of manners undefil'd.

With eloquence, that agonies inspire,
All Aesh is grass, and all its glory fades

Of silent tears and heart-distending sighs ?
Like the fair flow'r disheveld in the wind; Vain tears, alas! and sighs that never find
Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream. A corresponding tone in jovial souls !
The man we celebrate must find a tomb,

Well—one at least is safe. One shelter'd hare
And we that worship him ignoble graves. Has never heard the sanguinary yell
Nothing is proof against the gen’ral curse Of cruel man, exulting in her woes.
Of vanity, that seizes all below.

Innocent partner of my peaceful home The only amaranthine flow'r on Earth

Whom ten long years' experience of my care Is virtue; th' only lasting treasure, truth.

Has made at last familiar; she has lost But what is truth? 'Twas Pilate's question put Much of her vigilant instinctive dread, To Truth itself, that deign'd him no reply.

Not needful here, beneath a roof like mine. And wherefore? will not God impart his light Yes thou may'st eat thy bread, and lick the hand To them that ask it ?–Freely—-'tis his joy, That feeds thee; thou may'st frolic on the floor His glory, and his nature to impart.

At ev'ning, and at night retire secure But to the proud, uncandid, insincere,

To thy straw couch, and slumber unalarınd; Or negligent inquirer, not a spark.

For I have gain'd thy confidence, have pledg'd What's that, which brings contempt upon a book,

All that is human in me, to protect
And him who writes it, though the style be neat, Thine unsuspecting gratitude and love.
The method clear, and argument exact ?

If I survive thee, I will dig thy grave;
That makes a minister in holy things

And, when I place thee in it, sighing say, The joy of many, and the dread of more ; I knew at least one hare that had a friend. His name a theme for praise and for reproach ?- How various his employments, whom the world That, while it gives us worth in God's account, Calls idle; and who justly in return Depreciates and undoes us in our own?

Esteems that busy world an idler too! What pearl is it, that rich men cannot buy,

Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen, That learning is too proud to gather up;

Delightful industry enjoy'd at home, But which the poor, and the despis'd of all, And Nature in her cultivated trim Seek and obtain, and often find unsought ?

Dress'd 10 his taste, inviting him abroadTell me—and I will tell thee what is truth. Can he want occupation, who has these? O friendly to the best pursuits of man,

Will he be idle, who has much l' enjoy ? Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace, Me therefore studious of laborious ease, Domestic life in rural pleasure past !

Not slothful, happy to deceive the time,
Few know thy value, and few taste thy sweets ; Not waste it, and aware that human life
Though many boast thy favors, and affect

Is but a loan to be repaid with use,
To understand and choose thee for their own. When He shall call his debtors to account,
But foolish man foregoes his proper bliss,

From whom are all our blessings, business finds Ev'n as his first progenitor, and quits,

Ey'n here! while sedulous I seek t'improve, Though plac'd in Paradise, (for Earth has still At least neglect not, or leave unemployd, Some traces of her youthful beauty left)

The mind he gave me; driving it, though slack Substantial happiness for transient joy.

Too oft, and much impeded in its work
Scenes form'd for contemplation, and to nurse By causes not to be divulg'd in vain,
The growing seeds of wisdom; that suggest, To its just point—the service of mankind.
By ev'ry pleasing image they present,

He, that attends to his interior self,
Reflections such as meliorate the heart,

That has a heart, and keeps it; has a mind Compose the passions, and exalt the mind; That hungers, and supplies it; and who seeks Scenes such as these, 'tis his supreme delight A social, not a dissipated life, To fill with riot, and defile with blood.

Has business ; feels himself engag'd t'achieve Should some contagion, kind to the poor brutes No unimportant, though a silent, task. We persecute, annihilate the tribes,

A life all turbulence and noise may seem, That draw the sportsman over hill and dale To him that leads it, wise, and to be prais d; Fearless and rapt away from all his cares ;

But wisdom is a pearl with most success Should never game-fowl hatch her eggs again, Sought in still water, and beneath clear skies : Nor baited hook deceive the fish's eye;

He that is ever occupied in storms, Could pageantry and dance, and feast and song, Or dives not for it, or brings up instead, Be quell'd in all our summer-months' retreats; Vainly industrious, a disgraceful prize. How many self-deluded nymphs and swains,

The morning finds the self-sequester'd man Who dream they have a taste for fields and groves, Fresh for his task, intend what task he may. Wonld find them hideous nurs’ries of the spleen, Whether inclement seasons recommend And crowd the roads, impatient for the town! His warm but simple home, where he enjoys They love the country, and none else, who seek With her, who shares his pleasures and his heart, For their own sake its silence, and its shade, Sweet converse, sipping calm the fragrant lymph, Delights which who would leave, that has a heart Which neatly she prepares; then to his book Susceptible of pity, or a mind

Well chosen, and not sullenly perus’d Cultur'd and capable of sober thought,

In selfish silence, but imparted oft, For all the savage din of the swift pack,

As aught occurs, that she may smile to hear,

Or turn to nourishment, digested well.

For, ere the beech and elm have cast their leaf Or if the garden with its many cares,

Deciduous, when now November dark
All well repaid, demand him, he attends

Checks vegetation in the torpid plant
The welcome call, conscious how much the hand Expos’d to his cold breath, the task begins.
Of lubbard Labor needs his watchful eye,

Warily therefore, and with prudent heed,
Oft loit'ring lazily, if not o'erseen,

He seeks a favor'd spot; that where he builds Or misapplying his unskilful strength.

Th' agglomerated pile, his frame may front
Nor does he govern only or direct,

The Sun's meridian disk, and at the back
But much perforins himself. No works, indeed, Enjoy close shelter, wall, or reeds, or hedge
That ask robust, tough sinews, bred to toil, Impervious to the wind. First he bids spread
Servile employ; but such as may amuse,

Dry fern or litter'd hay, that may imbibe
Not tire, demanding rather skill than force. Th' ascending damps; then leisurely impose,
Proud of his well-spread walls, he views his trees, And lightly, shaking it with agile hand
That meet, no barren interval between,

From the full fork, the saturated straw.
With pleasure more than ev’n their fruits afford; What longest binds the closest forms secure
Which, save himself who trains them, none can feel. The shapely side, that as it rises takes,
These therefore are his own peculiar charge ; By just degrees, an overhanging breadth,
No meaner hand may discipline the shoots, Shelt'ring the base with its projected eaves ;
None but his steel approach them. What is weak, Th’ uplifted frame, compact at ev'ry joint,
Distemper'd, or has lost prolific pow'rs,

And overlaid with clear translucent glass,
Impair'd by age, his unrelenting hand

He settles next upon the sloping mount,
Dooms to the knife: nor does he spare the soft Whose sharp declivity shoots off secure
And succulent, that feeds its giant growth, From the dash'd pane the deluge as it falls.
But barren, at th' expense of neighb’ring twigs He shuts it close, and the first labor ends.
Less ostentatious, and yet studded thick

Thrice must the voluble and restless Earth
With hopeful gems. The rest, no portion left Spin round upon her axle, ere the warmth,
That may disgrace his art, or disappoint

Slow gath'ring in the midst, through the square mass Large expectation, he disposes neat

Diffus'd, attain the surface: when, behold ! At measur'd distances, that air and sun,

A pestilent and most corrosive steam,
Admitted freely, may afford their aid,

Like a gross fog Baotian, rising fast,
And ventilate and warm the swelling buds. And fast condens'd upon the dewy sash,
Hence Summer has her riches, Autumn hence, Asks egress ; which obtain'd, the overcharg'd
And hence ev'n Winter fills his wither'd hand And drench'd conservatory breathes abroad,
With blushing fruits, and plenty not his own. In volumes wheeling slow, the vapor dank;
Fair recompense of labor well-bestow'd,

And, purified, rejoices to have lost
And wise precaution; which a clime so rude Its foul inhabitant. But to assuage
Makes needful still, whose Spring is but the child Th' impatient fervor, which it first conceives
Of courlish Winter, in her froward moods

Within its reeking bosom, threat’ning death
Discov’ring much the temper of her sire.

To his young hopes, requires discreet delay. For oft, as if in her the stream of mild

Experience, slow preceptress, teaching oft
Maternal nature had revers’d its course,

The way to glory by miscarriage foul,
She brings her infants forth with many smiles ; Must prompt him, and admonish how to catch
But, once deliver'd, kills them with a frown. Th' auspicious moment, when the temper'd heat,
He therefore, timely warnd himself, supplies Friendly to vital motion, may afford
Her want of care, screening and keeping warm Soft fomentation, and invite the seed.
The plenteous bloom, that no rough blast may sweep The seed, selected wisely, plump, and smooth,
His garlands from the boughs. Again, as oft And glossy, he commits to pots of size
As the sun peeps and vernal airs breathe mild, Diminutive, well fill'd with well-prepar'd
The fence withdrawn, he gives them ev'ry beam, And fruitful soil, that has been treasur'd long,
And spreads his hopes before the blaze of day. And drank no moisture from the dripping clouds.

To raise the prickly and green-coated gourd, These on the warm and genial earth, that hides
So grateful to the palate, and when rare

The smoking manure, and o'erspreads it all, So coveted, else base and disesteemid,

He places lightly, and, as time subdues Food for the vulgar merely—is an art

The rage of fermentation, plunges deep That toiling ages have but just matur'd,

In the soft medium, till they stand immers’d.
And at this moment unessay'd in song.

Then rise the tender germs, upstarting quick
Yet gnals have had, and frogs and mice. long since, And spreading wide their spongy lobes ; at first
Their eulogy; those sang the Mantuan bard, Pale, wan, and livid; but assuming soon,
And those the Grecian, in ennobling strains ; If fann'd by balmy and nutritious air,
And in thy numbers, Phillips, shines for aye Strain'd through the friendly mats, a vivid green
The solitary shilling. Pardon then,

Two leaves produc'd, two rough indented leaves,
Ye sage dispensers of poetic fame,

Cautious he pinches from the second stalk
Th' ambition of one meaner far, whose pow'rs A pimple, ihat portends a future sprout,
Presuming an attempt not less sublime,

And interdicts its growth. Thence straight succeed
Pant for the praise of dressing to the taste The branches, sturdy to his utmost wish;
Of critic appetite, no sordid fare,

Prolific all, and harbingers of more.
A cucumber, while costly yet and scarce.

The crowded roots demand enlargement now, The stable yields a stercorareous heap, And transplantation in an ampler space. Impregnated with quick fermenting salts, Indulg'd in what they wish, they soon supply And potent to resist the freezing blast;

Large foliage, overshadowing golden flow'rs,

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Blown on the summit of th' apparent fruit. Of their complete effect. Much yet remains
These have their sexes! and, when Summer shines, Unsung, and many cares are yet behind,
The bee transports the fertilizing meal

And more laborious; cares on which depends
From flow'r to flow'r, and ev'n the breathing air Their vigor, injur'd soon, not soon restor'd.
Wafis the rich prize to its appointed use.

The soil must be renew'd, which often wash'd Not so when Winter scowls. Assistant Art

Loses its treasure of salubrious salts,
Then acts in Nature's office, brings to pass And disappoints the roots; the slender roots
The glad espousals, and insures the crop.

Close interwoven, where they meet the vase Grudge not, ye rich, (since Luxury must have Must smooth be shorn away; the sapless branch His dainties, and the world's more num'rous half Must fly before the knife; the wither'd leaf Lives by contriving delicates for you,)

Must be detach'd, and where it strews the floor Grudge not the cost. Ye little know the cares, Swept with a woman's neatness, breeding else The vigilance, the labor, and the skill

Contagion, and disseminating death.
That day and night are exercis'd, and hang Discharge but these kind offices, (and who
Upon the ticklish balance of suspense,

Would spare, that loves them, offices like these !)
That ye may garnish your profuse regales Well they reward the toil. The sight is pleasd,
With summer fruits brought forth by wint'ry suns. The scent regal'd; each odorif'rous leaf,
Ten thousand dangers lie in wait to thwart Each op’ning blossom, freely breathes abroad
The process. Heat and cold, and wind and steam, Its gratitude, and thanks him with its sweets.
Moisture and drought, mice, worms, and swarming So manifold, all pleasing in their kind,

All healthful, are th' employs of rural life, Minute as dust, and numberless, oft work

Reiterated as the wheel of time Dire disappointment, that admits no cure,

Runs round; still ending, and beginning still. And which no care can obviate. It were long, Nor are these all. To deck the shapely knoll, Too long, to tell th' expedients and the shifts, That softly swell’d and gaily dress'd appears Which he that fights a season so severe

A flow'ry island, from the dark-green lawn Devises, while he guards his tender trust;

Emerging, must be deem'd a labor due And oft at last in vain. The learn'd and wise To no mean hand, and asks the touch of taste. Sarcastic would exclaim, and judge the song Here also grateful mixture of well-match'd Cold as its theme, and like its theme the fruit And sorted hues (each giving each relief, Of 100 much labor, worthless when produc'd. And by contrasted beauty shining more)

Who loves a garden, loves a greenhouse too. is needful. Strength may wield the pond'rous Unconscious of a less propitious clime,

There blooms exotic beauty, warm and snug, May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home;
While the winds whistle, and the snows descend. But elegance, chief grace the garden shows
The spiry myrtle with unwith’ring leaf

And most attractive, is the fair result
Shines there, and flourishes. The golden boast Of thought, the creature of a polish'd mind.
Of Portugal and western India there,

Without it, all is Gothic as the scene
The ruddier orange, and the paler lime,

To which th' insipid citizen resorts Peep through their polish'd foliage at the storm, Near yonder heath; where Industry misspent, And seem to smile at what they need not fear. But proud of his uncouth ill-chosen task, Th' amomum there with intermingling flow'rs Has made a Heaven on Earth ; with suns and moons And cherries hangs her twigs. Geranium boasts Of close-ramm'd stones has charg'd th' encumber'd Her crimson honors; and the spangled beau,

soil, Ficoides, glitters bright the winter long.

And fairly laid the zodiac in the dust. All plants, of ev'ry leaf, that can endure

He, therefore, who would see his fou'rs dispos'd The winter's frown, if screen'd from his shrewd bite, Sightly and in just order, ere he gives Live there, and prosper. Those Ausonia claims, The beds the trusted treasure of their seeds, Levantine regions these; th' Azores send

Forecasts the future whole; that when the scene Their jessamine : her jessamine remote

Shall break into its preconceiv'd display, Catfraria : foreigners from many lands,

Each for itself, and all as with one voice
They form one social shade, as if conven'd Conspiring, may attest his bright design.
By magic summons of th' Orphean lyre.

Nor even then, dismissing as perform u
Yet just arrangement, rarely brought to pass His pleasant work, may he suppose it done.
But by a master's hand disposing well

Few self-supported flow'rs endure the wind
The gay diversities of leaf and flow'r,

Uninjur’d, but expect th' upholding aid Must lend its aid t' illustrate all their charms, Of the smooth-shaven prop, and neatly tied, And dress the regular yet various scene.

Are wedded thus, like beauty to old age, Plant behind plant aspiring, in the van

For int’rest sake, the living to the deal. The dwarfish, in the rear retir'd, but still

Some clothe the soil that feeds thern, far diffus'd Sublime above the rest, the statelier stand.

And lowly creeping, modest and yet fair,
So once were rang'd the sons of ancient Rome, Like Virtue, thriving most where little seen:
A noble show! while Roscius trod the stage; Some more aspiring catch the neighbor shrub
And so, while Garrick, as renown'd as he, With clasping tendrils, and invest his branch,
The sons of Albion ; fearing each to lose

Else unadorn’d, with many a gay festoon
Some note of Nature's music from his lips,

AI rrant chaplet, recompensing well And covetous of Shakspeare's beauty, seen The s... th they borrow with ihe grace they lend In ev'ry flash of his far-beaming eye.

All hate the rank society of weeds,
Nor taste alone and well-contriv'd display

Noisome, and ever greedy to exhaust
Suffice to give the marshal'd ranks the grace Th’ impov'rish'd earth ; an overbearing race,

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That, like the multitude made faction-mad,

What England was, plain, hospitable, kind,
Disturb good order, and degrade true worth. And undebauch'd. But we have bid farewell
O blest seclusion from a jarring world,

To all the virtues of those better days,
Which he, thus occupied, enjoys! Retreat And all their honest pleasures. Mansions once
Cannot indeed to guilty man restore

Knew their own masters; and laborious hinds,
Lost innocence, or cancel follies past;

Who had surviv'd the father, serv'd the son.
But it has peace, and much secures the mind Now the legitimate and rightful lord
From all assaults of evil; proving still

Is hut a transient guest, newly arriv'd,
A faithful barrier, not o'erleap'd with ease

As soon to be supplanted. He, that saw
By vicious Custom, raging uncontrollid

His patrimonial timber cast its leaf,
Abroad, and desolating public life.

Sells the last scantling, and transfers the price
When fierce Temptation, seconded within To some shrewd sharper, ere it buds again.
By traitor Appetite, and arm'd with darts

Estates are landscapes, gaz'd upon awhile,
Temper'd in Hell, invades the throbbing breast, Then advertis'd and auctioneer'd away.
To combat may be glorious, and success

The country starves, and they, that feed th'o'ercharg'd
Perhaps may crown us; but to fly is safe.

And surfeited lewd town with her fair dues,
Had I the choice of sublunary good,

By a just judgment strip and starve themselves.
What could I wish, that I possess not here? The wings, that wafi our riches out of sight,
Health, leisure, means t' improve it, friendship, peace, Grow on the gamester's elbows, and th' alert
No loose or wanton, though a wand'ring, Muse, And nimble motion of those restless joints,
And constant occupation without care.

That never tire, soon fans them all away.
Thus blest, I draw a picture of that bliss ;

Improvement, too, the idol of the age,
Hopeless indeed, that dissipated minds,

Is fed with many a victim. Lo, he comes !
And profligate abusers of a world

Th'omnipotent magician, Brown, appears!
Created fair so much in vain for them,

Down falls the venerable pile, th' abode
Should seek the guiltless joys, that I describe, of our forefathers-a grave whisker'd race,
Allur'd by my report: but sure no less,

But tasteless. Springs a palace in its stead,
That self-condemn’d they must neglect the prize, But in a distant spot; where more expos'd
And what they will not taste must yet approve. It may enjoy th' advantage of the north,
What we admire, we praise; and, when we praise, And aguish east, till time shall have transformid
Advance it into notice, that, its worth

Those naked acres to a shelt'ring grove.
Acknowledg’d, others may admire it too.

He speaks. The lake in front becomes a lawn;
I therefore recommend, though at the risk

Woods vanish, hills subside, and valleys rise;
of popular disgust, yet boldly still,

And streams, as if created for his use,
The cause of piely, and sacred truth,

Pursue the track of his directing wand,
Aud virtue, and those scenes, which God ordain'd Sinuous or straight, now rapid and now slow,
Should best secure them, and promote them most; Now murm'ring soft, now roaring in cascades
Scenes that I love, and with regret perceive Ev'n as he bids! Th' enraptur'd owner smiles.
Forsaken, or through folly not enjoy'd.

'Tis finish’d, and yet, finish'd as it seems,
Pure is the nymph, though lib'ral of her smiles, Still wants a grace, the loveliest it could show,
And chaste, though unconfin'd, whom I extol. A mine to satisfy th' enormous cost.
Not as the prince in Shushan, when he callid, Drain'd to the last poor item of his wealth,
Vain-glorious of her charms, his Vashti forth, He sighs, departs, and leaves th' accomplish'd plan,
To grace the full pavilion. His design

That he has touch'd, retouch'd, many a long day
Was but to boast his own peculiar good,

Labor'd, and many a night pursu'd in dreams,
Which all might view with envy, none partake. Just when it meets his hopes, and proves the Heav'n
My charmer is not mine alone; my sweets, He wanted, for a wealthier to enjoy ;
And she, that sweetens all my bitters too, And now perhaps the glorious hour is come,
Nature, enchanting Nature, in whose form When, having no stake left, no pledge tendear
And lineaments divine I trace a hand,

Her int'rests, or that gives her sacred cause
That errs not, and find raptures still renew'd, A moment's operation on his love,
Is free to all menuniversal prize.

He burns with most intense and flagrant zeal,
Strange that so fair a creature should yet want To serve his country. Ministerial grace
Admirers, and be destin'd to divide

Deals him out money from the public chest;
With meaner objects ev'n the few she finds ! Or if that mine be shut, some private purse
Stripp'd of her ornaments, her leaves and flowers, Supplies his need with a usurious loan,
She loses all her influence. Cities then

To be refunded duly, when his vote
Attract us, and neglected Nature pines

Well-manag'd shall have earn'd its worthy price. Abandon'd, as unworthy of our love.

O innocent, compar'd with arts like these, But are not wholesome airs, though unperfum'd Crape, and cock'd pistol, and the whistling ball By roses; and clear suns, though scarcely felt; Sent through the trav’ller's temples! He that finds And groves, if ur harmonious, yet secure

One drop of Heaven's sweet mercy in his cup, From clamor, and whose very silence charms; Can dig, beg, rot, and perish, well content; To be preferr'd to smoke, to the eclipse,

So he may wrap himself in honest rags That metropolitan volcanoes make,

At his last gasp; but could not for a world Whose Stygian throats breathe darkness all day long; Fish up his dirty and dependent bread And to the stir of Coinmerce, driving slow, From pools and ditches of the commonwealth, And thund'ring loud, with his ten thousand wheels? Sordid and sick’ning at his own success. They would be, were not madness in the head, Ambition, av’rice, penury incurr'd And folly in the heart; were England now, By endless riot, vanity, the lust


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