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• "Twould put your mind into a rage, And fuch unequal war to wage Suits not my regal duty!

I dare not change a first decree,

She's doom'd to please, nor can be free!

Such is the lot of Beauty.'

This faid, he darted o'er the plain,

And after follow'd all his train;

No glimpse of him I find :

But fure I am, the little fprite,
These words, before he took his flight,
Imprinted on my mind:



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H! form'd by Nature, and refin'd by Art,

With charms to win, and fenfe to fix the heart!

By thousands fought, Clotilda, can't thou free
Thy crowd of captives, and defcend to me?
Content in fhades obfcure to waste thy life,
A hidden beauty, and a country wife!
O liften while thy fummers are my theme!
Ah, foothe thy partner in his waking dream!

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In fome fmall hamlet on the lonely plain,

Where Thames, thro' meadows, rolls his mazy train;
Or where high Windfor, thick with greens array'd,
Waves his old oaks, and fpreads his ample fhade,
Fancy has figur'd out our calm retreat :
Already, round the vifionary feat,

Our limes begin to fhoot, our flow'rs to spring,
The brooks to murmur, and the birds to fing.
Where doft thou lie, thou thinly-peopled green;
Thou nameless lawn, and village yet unfeen;
Where fons, contented with their native ground,
Ne'er travel farther than ten furlongs round;
And the tann'd peafant, and his ruddy bride,
Were born together, and together died!
Where early larks best tell the morning-light,
And only Philomel disturbs the night!

'Midft gardens here my humble pile fhall rife,
With sweets surrounded of ten thousand dyes;
All favage where th' embroider'd gardens end,
The haunt of echoes fhall my woods afcend;
And, O! if Heaven th' ambitious thought approve,
A rill shall warble cross the gloomy grove;

A little rill, o'er pebbly beds convey'd,

Gush down the steep, and glitter thro' the glade !
What chearing fcents thofe bord'ring banks exhale!
How loud that heifer lows from yonder vale!
That thrush, how fhrill! his note fo clear, fo high,
He drowns each feather'd minftrel of the sky.
Here let me trace, beneath the purpled morn,
The deep-mouth'd beagle, and the fprightly horn;
Or lure the trout with well-diffembled flies,
Or fetch the flutt'ring partridge from the skies:
Nor fhall thy hand difdain to crop the vine,
The downy peach, or flavour'd nectarine ;
Or rob the bee-hive of it's golden hoard,
And bear th' unbought luxuriance to thy board.


Sometimes my books by day fhall kill the hours,
While from thy needle rife the filken flow'rs ;
And thou, by turns, to ease my feeble fight,
Refume the volume, and deceive the night.
O! when I mark thy twinkling eyes opprefs'd,
Soft whisp'ring, let me warn my love to reft;
Then watch thee, charm'd, while fleep locks every fente,
And to fweet Heav'n commend thy innocence.

Thus reign'd our fathers o'er the rural fold,


Wife, hale, and honeft, in the days of old;
Till courts arofe, where fubftance pays for fhow,
And fpecious joys are bought with real woe.
See Flavia's pendants, large, well spread, and right;
The ear that wears them hears a fool each night:
Mark how th' embroider'd col'nel fneaks away,
To shup the with'ring dame that made him
That knave, to gain a title, loft his fame;
That rais'd his credit by a daughter's fhame:
This coxcomb's ribband cost him half his land;
And oaks unnumber'd bought that fool a wand.
Fond man, as all his forrows were too few,
Acquires ftrange wants that Nature never knew!
By midnight-lamps he emulates the day,
And fleeps, perverse, the chearful funs away;
From goblets high emboss'd his wine muft glide;
Round his clos'd fight the gorgeous curtain flide;
Fruits, ere their time, to grace his pomp, muft rife,
And three untafted courfes glut his eyes.

For this are Nature's gentle calls withstood,
The voice of confcience, and the bonds of blood!
This, Wisdom, thy reward for ev'ry pain!
And this, gay Glory, all thy mighty gain!
Fair phantoms, woo'd and fcorn'd from age to age,
Since bards began to laugh, or priests to rage:
And yet, juft curfe on man's afpiring kind,
Prone to ambition, to example blind,


Our children's children shall our steps pursue,
And the fame errors be for ever new!

Meanwhile, in hope a guiltless country swain,

My reed with warblings chears th' imagin'd plain.
Hail, humble fhades, where truth and filence dwell!
Thou, noify town, and faithlefs court, farewel!
Farewel ambition, once my darling flame!
The thirft of lucre, and the charm of fame!
In life's bye-road, that winds thro' paths unknown,
My days, tho' number'd, fhall be all my own!
Here shall they end (O might they twice begin!)
And all be white the fates intend to spin.



Vos fapere et folos aio bene vivere, quorum,
Confpicitur nitidis fundata pecunia villis.


HE wealthy cit, grown old in trade,
Now wishes for the rural fhade,
And buckles to his one-horfe chair
Old Dobbin, or the founder'd mare;
While wedg'd in closely by his fide,
Sits Madam, his unwieldy bride,
With Jacky on a ftool before 'em,
And out they jog in due decorum.
Scarce past the turnpike half a mile,
• How all the country seems to smile!'
And as they flowly jog together,

The cit commends the road and weather;
While Madam doats upon the trees,

And longs for ev'ry house she fees,



Admires it's views, it's fituation,

And thus fhe opens her oration.

What fignifies the loads of wealth, • Without that richeft jewel, health? • Excufe the fondness of a wife,

Who doats upon your precious life!
Such eafelefs toil, fuch conftant care,
Is more than human ftrength can bear :
• One may obferve it in your face-
• Indeed, my dear, you break
And nothing can your health repair,
• But exercise, and country air.

Sir Traffick has a house, you know,
About a mile from Cheney Row:
He's a good man, indeed, 'tis true,
But not fo warm, my dear, as you;
And folks are always apt to fneer-
• One would not be out-done, my dear !'
Sir Traffick's name fo well apply'd,
Awak'd his brother merchant's pride;
And Thrifty, who had all his life
Paid utmost deference to his wife,
Confefs'd her arguments had reason;
And by th' approaching fummer feafon,
Draws a few hundreds from the ftocks,
And purchases his Country-box.

Some three or four miles out of town,
(An hour's ride will bring you down)
He fixes on his choice abode,

Not half a furlong from the road;
And fo convenient does it lay,

The stages pass it ev'ry day :
And then fo fnug, fo mighty pretty,
To have a house so near the city!

Take but your places at the Boar,

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