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"Till, once, a parfon of our town,
"To mend his barn, cut Baucis down;
"At which, 'tis hard to be believ'd
"How much the other tree was griev'd;
"Grew scrubby, died a-top, was ftunted;
"So the next parfon stubb'd, and burnt it."

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7HAT would I have you do! I'll tell you kinfman. Learn to be wife, and practise how to thrive : That would I have thee do; and not to spend Your coin on every bawble that you fancy, Or every foolish brain that humours you. I would not have to invade each place, Nor thrust yourself on all focieties, Till men's affections, or your own defert, Should worthily invite you to your rank: He that is so respectlefs in his courses, Oft fells his reputation at a cheap market. Nor would I, you should melt away yourself In flashing bravery; left, while you affect To make a blaze of gentry to the world, A little puff of fcorn extinguish it, And you be left, like an unfavoury snuff, Whose property is only to offend. I'd ha' you fober, and contain yourself: Not, that your fail be bigger than your boat; But mod❜rate your expences now, at first, As you may keep the fame proportion ftill.


Nor ftand fo much on your gentility;

Which is an airy, and mere borrow'd thing,
From dead men's duft, and bones; and none of yours,
Except you make or hold it.

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OUNTAIN of light! from whom yon orient fun

First drew his fplendor; fource of life and love!
Whofe fmile now wakes, o'er earth's re-kindling face,
The boundless blush of spring; O first and best!
Thy effence, tho' from human fight and fearch,
Tho' from the climb of all created thought,
Ineffably remov'd; yet man himself,

Thy lowest child of reafon, man may read
Unbounded power, intelligence fupreme;
The maker's hand on all his works imprefs'd,
In characters coeval with the fun,

And with the fun to laft; from world to world,
From age to age, in every clime, difclos'd.
Hail, univerfal goodnefs! with full ftream,
For ever flowing, from beneath the throne,
Thro' earth, air, fea, to all things that have life:
From all that live on earth, in air, or fea,
The great community of nature's fons,

To, thee, firft Father, ceaseless praise ascend !
And, in the reverend hynn, my grateful voice
Be duly heard; among thy works not least,
Nor loweft; with intelligence inform❜d,

To know thee, and adore; with free-will crown'd,
Where virtue leads, to follow, and be bless'd.

O! whether, by thy prime decree, ordain'd
To days of future life; or, whether, now
The mortal hour is inftant, ftill vouchfafe,
Parent and friend! to guide me, blameless, on,
Thro' this dark scene of error and of ill;

Thy truth to light me, and thy peace to chear:
All elfe, of me unafk'd, thy will fupreme
Withhold or grant: and let thy will be done!

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KNEW be but his

The happiest! he, who, far from public rage, Deep in the vale, with a choice few retir'd, Drinks the pure pleasures of the rural life,

SURE peace is his : a folid life, eftrang'd To disappointment, and fallacious hope: Rich in content in nature's bounty rich; In herbs and fruits. Whatever greens the Spring, When heaven defcends in fhowers; or bends the bough, When Summer reddens, and when Autumn beams; Or, in the wint'ry glebe, whatever lies Conceal'd, and fattens with the richest fap; These are not wanting: nor the milky drove, Luxuriant, fpread o'er all the lowing vale; Nor bleeding mountains; nor the chide of streams, And huin of bees, inviting fleep fincere Into the guiltless breaft, beneath the fhade, Or thrown at large amid the fragrant hay; Nor ought befides, of profpect, grove, or fong;

Dim grottoes, gleaming lakes, and fountains clear.
Here, too, dwells fimple truth; plain innocence;
Unfullied beauty; found unbroken youth,
Patient of fabour, with a little pleas'd;
Health ever blooming; unambitious toil ;
Calm contemplation, and poetic ease.

THE rage of nations, and the crush of states,
Move not the man, who, from the world efcap'd,
In ftill retreats, and flowery folitudes,

To nature's voice attends, from month to month,
And day to day, through the revolving year;
Admiring, fees her in every shape;

Feels all her sweet emotions at his heart;

Takes what the liberal gives, nor thinks of more.

HE, when young Spring protrudes the bursting gems, Marks the first bud, and fucks the healthful gale Into his freshen'd foul; her genial hours He full enjoys; and not a beauty blows, And not an opening bloffom breaths, in vain.

IN Summer, he, beneath the living fhade,
Such as o'er frigid Tempe wont to wave,
Or Hemus cool, reads what the muse, of these
Perhaps, has in immortal numbers fung;
Or what the dictates, writes: and, oft, an eye
Shot round, rejoices in the vigorous year.

WHEN Autumn's yellow luftre gilds the world,
And tempts the fickl'd swain into the field,
Seiz'd by the general joy, his heart diftends
With gentle throws; and, through the tepid gleams
Deep mufing, then he best exerts his fong.

EVEN Winter wild, to him, is full of blifs. The mighty tempeft, and the hoary waste, Abrupt, and deep, ftretch'd o'er the buried earth, Awake to folemn thought. At night, the fkies,


Difclos'd and kindled by refining frost,
Pour every luftre on th' exalted eye.
A friend, a book, the ftealing hours fecure,
And mark them down for wisdom.
O'er land and fea, th' imagination roams;
Or truth, "divinely breaking on his mind,
Elates his being, and unfolds his powers";
Or, in his breaft, heroic virtue burns.

THE touch of kindred, too, and love, he feels: The modeft eye, whose beams on his alone Extatic fhine; the little ftrong embrace Of prattling children, twin'd around his neck, And emulous to please him, calling forth The fond parental foul. Nor purpose gay, Amusement, dance, or fong, he fternly scorns; For, happinefs and true philofophy, Are of the focial ftill, and smiling kind.

THIS is the life, which those, who fret in guilt And guilty cities, never knew; the life,

Led by primeval ages, uncorrupt,

When angels dwelt, and God himself, with man.


With fwift wing,






NOW thou thyself; prefume not God to scan: The proper ftudy of mankind, is man. Placed on this ifthmus of a middle ftate, A being, darkly wife, and rudely great: With too much knowledge for the fceptic fide, With too much weakness for the ftoic's pride,

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