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"Till, once, a parfon of our town,
KNOWILL'S ADVICE TO MASTER STEPHEN.
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,
OUNTAIN of light! from whom yon orient fun
First drew his fplendor; fource of life and love!
Thy lowest child of reafon, man may read
And with the fun to laft; from world to world,
To, thee, firft Father, ceaseless praise ascend !
To know thee, and adore; with free-will crown'd,
O! whether, by thy prime decree, ordain'd
Thy truth to light me, and thy peace to chear:
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.
THE rage of nations, and the crush of states,
To nature's voice attends, from month to month,
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,
WHEN Autumn's yellow luftre gilds the world,
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,
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,