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All difcord, harmony not understood;

All partial evil, univerfal good;

And spite of pride, in erring reafon's spite,
One truth is clear-Whatever is, is right.

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F manners gentle, of affections mild;
In wit, a man; fimplicity, a child:

With native humour, temp 'ring virtue's rage;
Form'd to delight, at once, and lash the age;
Above temptation, in a low eftates
And uncorrupted, even among the great
These are thy honours! not that here thy buft
Is mix'd with heroes, and with kings thy duft;
But, that the worthy the good shall fay
Striking their penfive bofoms

lies GAY.




N ancient times, as story tells,


The faints would often leave their cells,

And ftroll about; but hide their quality,

To try good people's hospitality.

IT happen'd, on a winter night, As authors of the legend write,


Two brother-hermits, faints by trade,
Taking their tour in masquerade,
Difguis'd in tatter'd habits, went
To a small village down in Kent;
Where, in the ftrollers' canting ftrain,
They begg'd, from door to boor, in vain ;
Tried every tone might pity win;

But not a foul would let them in.

OUR wand'ring faints, in woful flate,
Treated at this ungodly rate,

Having through all the village pass'd,
To a small cottage came at laft,
Where dwelt a good old honeft yeoman,
Called in the neighbourhood, Philemon ;
Who kindly did thefe faints invite
In his poor hut to pass the night;
And, then, the hospitable fire
Bid goody Baucis mend the fire;
While he, from out the chimney, took
A flich of bacon, off the hook,
And, freely, from the fatteft fide,
Cut out large flices to be fry'd :
Then ftepp'd afide, to fetch them drink,
Fill'd a large jug up to the brink,
And faw it fairly twice go round;
Yet (what is wonderful !) they found
Twas ftill replenished to the top,
As if they had not touch'd a drop.

THE good old couple were amaz'd,
And often on each other gaz'd;
Fe both were frighten'd to the heart,
And just began to cry-What art!.
Then foftly turn'd afide, to view
Whether the lights were turning blue.



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The gentle pilgrims, foon aware on't,
Told them their calling, and their errand.
"Good folks, you need not be afraid;
"We are but faints," the hermits faid
"No hurt fhall come to you or yours:
"But, for that pack of churlish boors,
"Not fit to live on Chriftian ground,
"They, and their houses, fhall be drown'd;
"While you shall fee your cottage rife,
"And grow a church before your eyes."

THEY searce had spoke, when, fair and soft,
The roof began to mount aloft;

Aloft rofe every beam and rafter;
The heavy wall climb'd flowly after.
The chimney widened, and grew higher,
Became a steeple, with a fpire.

The kettle to the top was hoist,

And there ftood fasten'd to a joist;
With upfide down, doom'd there to dwell,
'Tis now no kettle, but a bell.
A wooden jack, which had almost
Loft, by difufe, the art to roaft,
A fudden alteration feels,
Increas'd by new inteftine wheels ;
And, ftraight, against the steeple rear'd,
Became a clock, and ftill adher'd :
And, now, in love to household cares,
By a fhrill voice, the hour declares,
Warning the house-maid, not to burn
The roaft-meat, which it cannot turn.
The eafy chair began to crawl,
Like a huge fnail, along the wall;
There, ftuck aloft, in public view,
And, with small change, a pulpit grew.

A bed.

A bed-ftead of the antique mode,
Made up of timber many a load,
Such as our ancestors did use,
Was metamorphos'd into pews:
Which ftill their ancient nature keep,
By lodging folks difpos'd to fleep.

THE Cottage, by fuch feats as these,
Grown to a church by juft degrees;
The hermits then defir'd their hoft
To ask for what they fancy'd moft.
Philemon, having paus'd a while,
Return'd them thanks in homely ftile:
Then faid-" My houfe is grown fo fine,
"Methinks I ftill would call it mine:
"I'm old, and fain would live at ease―
"Make me the parfon, if ye please."

He spoke and, prefently, he feels
His grazier's coat fails down his heels:
He fees, yet hardly can believe,
About each arm, a pudding fleeve;
His waistcoat to a caflock grew;
And both affum'd a fable hue:
But, being old, continued just
As thread-bare, and as full of duft.
His talk was now of tithes and dues;
He finoak'd his pipe, and read the news;
Knew how to preach old fermons next;
Vamp'd in the preface and the text:
At chrift'nings, well could act his part;
And had the service all by heart:

Found his head fill'd with many a system:
But claffic authors-he ne'er mifs'd 'em.

THUS, having furbish'd up a parfon,

Dame Baucis, next, they play'd their farce on.


Inftead of homefpun coifs, were seen,
Good pinners, edg'd with colberteen;
Her petticoat, transform'd apace,
Became black fattin, flounc'd with lace.
Plain Goody would no longer down;
'Twas Madam, in her grogran gown.
Philemon was in great furprise,
And hardly could believe his eyes,
Amaz'd to fee her look fo prim;
And the admir'd as much at him.


THUS, happy in their change of life,
Were, feveral years, this man and wife
When, on a day (which prov'd their laft)
Difcourfing o'er old ftories paft,
They went, by chance, amidst their talk,
To the church-yard, to take a walk;
When Baucis haftily cried out,

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My dear, I fee your forehead sprout!"

"Sprout !" quoth the man," what's this you tell us? "I hope you don't believe me jealous:

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"But, yet, methinks, I feel it true:
"And, really, yours is budding too-
"Nay, now I cannot ftir my foot
"It feels as if 'twere taking root."
Description would but tire my muse;
In short, they both were turn'd to-yews.
OLD goodman Dobfon, of the green,
Remembers, he the trees has feen:
He'll talk of them from morn to night,
And goes with folks to fhew the fight.
On Sundays, after evening prayer,
He gathers all the parish there;
Points out the place of either yew;
"Here Baucis, there Philemon grew:

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