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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.
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
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.
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-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,
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:
"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: