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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 parson stubb'd, and burnt it."
KNOWILL'S ADVICE TO MASTER STEPHEN.
HAT would I have you do! I'll tell you
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 thruft yourself on all focieties,
Till men's affections, or your own defert,
Should worthily invite you to your rank:
He that is fo refpectlefs 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 fnuff,
Whofe property is only to offend.
I'd ha' you sober, 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.
OUNTAIN of light! from whom yon orient fun
Firft 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 search,
'Tho' from the climb of all created thought,
Ineffably remov'd; yet man himself,
Thy loweft 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!
KNEW he but his happiness, of men
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 sap;
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 breast, beneath the shade,
Or thrown at large amid the fragrant hay;
Nor ought befides, of profpect, grove, or song;
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 fhape;
Feels all her fweet 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 bliss.
The mighty tempeft, and the hoary wafte,
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. With swift wing,
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 breast, 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 song, he sternly scorns;
For, happiness and true philosophy,
Are of the focial ftill, and fmiling kind.
THIS is the life, which thofe, who fret in guilt
And guilty cities, never knew; the life,
Led by primeval ages, uncorrupt,
When angels dwelt, and God himself, with man.
NOW thou thyfelf; 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,