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Some note of Nature's mufic from his lips,
And covetous of Shakespeare's beauty, seen
In ev'ry flash of his far-beaming eye.

Nor tafte alone, and well-contriv'd difplay,
Suffice to give the marshall'd ranks the grace
Of their complete effect. Much yet remains
Unfung, and many cares are yet behind,
And more laborious. Cares on which depends
Their vigor, injur'd foon, not foon restor❜d.
The foil must be renew'd, which often wash'd,
Lofes its treasure of falubrious falts,

And disappoints the roots; the slender roots
Clofe interwoven where they meet the vase,
Muft fmooth be fhorn away; the fapeless branch
Muft fly before the knife; the wither'd leaf
Must be detach'd, and where it ftrews the floor
Swept with a woman's neatnefs, breeding elfe
Contagion, and diffeminating death.

Difcharge but thefe kind offices, (and who
Would spare, that loves them, offices like thefe )
"Well they reward the toil. The fight is pleas'd,
The fcent regal'd, each odorif 'rous leaf,
Each op'ning bloffom freely breathes abroad
Its gratitude, and thanks him with its sweets.

So manifold, all pleafing in their kind,
All healthful, are th' employs of rural life,
Reiterated as the wheel of time
Runs round, ftill ending, and beginning ftill.
Nor are thefe all. To deck the fhapely knoll

That

That foftly fwell'd and gayly drefs'd, appears
A flow'ry island from the dark green lawn
Emerging, must be deem'd a labor due

To no mean hand, and afks the touch of taste.
Here alfo grateful mixture of well match'd
And forted hues, (each giving each relief,
And by contrafted beauty fhining more)

Is needful. Strength may wield the pond'rous fpade,
May turn the clod, and wheel the compoft home,
But elegance, chief grace the garden shows

And most attractive, is the fair refult

Of thought, the creature of a polish'd mind.
Without it, all is Gothic as the scene
To which th' infipid citizen reforts,

Near yonder heath; where industry mispent,
But proud of his uncouth ill-chosen task,

Has made a heaven on earth. With funs and moons
Of close-ramm'd ftones has charg'd th' incumber'd foil,
And fairly laid the Zodiac in the dust.

He therefore who would fee his flow'rs difpos'd
Sightly, and in juft order, ere he gives
The beds the trusted treasure of their feeds,
Forecafts the future whole; that when the scene
Shall break into its preconceiv'd difplay,
Each for itself, and all as with one voice
Confpiring, may atteft his bright defign.
Nor even then, difmiffing as perform'd,
His pleasant work, may he fuppofe it done,
Few felf-fupported flow'rs endure the wind,
Uninjur'd, but expect th' upholding aid,
Of the fmooth-fhaven prop, and neatly tied,
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Are wedded thus, like beauty to old age,
For int'reft fake, the living to the dead.

Some cloath the foil that feeds them, far diffus'd,
And lowly creeping, modeft, and yet fair,
Like virtue, thriving moft where little feen.
Some more afpiring, catch the neighbour shrub
With clafping tendrils, and invest his branch,
Elfe unadorn'd, with many a gay feftoon,
And fragrant chaplet, recompenfing well
The ftrength they borrow, with the grace they lend.
All hate the rank fociety of weeds,
Noifome, and ever greedy to exhaust

Th' impoverish'd earth; an overbearing race,
That like the multitude made faction-mad,
Disturb good order, and degrade true worth.

Oh bleft feclufion from a jarring world,
Which he thus occupy'd, enjoys! Retreat
Cannot indeed to guilty man restore
Loft innocence, or cancel follies paft,
But it has peace, and much secures the mind
From all affaults of evil, proving ftill
A faithful barrier, not o'erleap'd with ease,
By vicious custom, raging uncontroul'd
Abroad, and defolating public life.
When fierce temptation, feconded within
By traitor appetite, and arm'd with darts
Temper'd in hell, invades the throbbing breaft,
To combat may be glorious, and fuccefs
Perhaps may crown us, but to fly is safe.
Had I the choice of fublunary good,

What

What could I wish, that I poffefs not here?
Health, leifure, means t' improve it, friendship, peace,
No loofe or wanton, though a wand'ring mufe,
And conftant occupation, without care.
Thus bleft, I draw a picture of that bliss;
Hopeless indeed that diffipated minds,
And profligate abusers of a world,
Created fair fo much in vain for them,
Should feek the guiltless joys that I describe,
Allur'd by my report,
But fure no lefs,

That felf-condemn'd, they muft neglect the prize,
And what they will not taste, must yet approve.
What we admire we praife. And when we praise
Advance it into notice, that its worth
Acknowledg'd, others may admire it too.
I therefore recommend, though at the rifk
Of popular difgußt, yet boldly fill,
The cause of piety and facred truth,

And virtue, and thofe fcenes which God ordain'd,
Should best secure them, and promote them moft;
Scenes that I love, and with regret perceive
Forfaken, or through folly not enjoy'd.
Pure is the nymph, though lib'ral of her fmiles,
And chafte, though unconfin'd, whom I extol.
Not as the prince in Shufhan, when he call'd,
Vain-glorious of her charms, his Vashti forth,
To grace the full pavilion. His defign.
Was but to boaft his own peculiar good,
Which all might veiw with envy, none partake.
My charmer, is not mine alone; my fweets,
And fhe that sweetens all my bitters too,

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Nature,

Nature, enchanting Nature, in whofe form
And lineaments divine, I trace a hand,
That errs not, and find raptures ftill renew'd,
Is free to all men, univerfal prize.

Strange, that fo fair a creature fhould yet want
Admirers, and be deftin'd to divide

With meaner objects, ev n the few fhe finds.
Stripp'd of her ornaments, her leaves and flowr's,
She lofes all her influence. Cities then
Attract us, and neglected Nature pines,
Abandon'd, as unworthy of our love.

But are not wholefome airs, though unperfum'd
By rofes, and clear funs though scarcely felt,

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And groves, if unharmonious, yet secure

From clamour, and whose very filence charms,
To be preferr'd to smoke, to the eclipse
That Metropolitan volcano's make,

Whofe Stygian throats breathe darkness all day long,
And to the ftir of commerce, driving flow,
And thund'ring loud, with his ten thousand wheels?
They would be, were not madness in the head,
And folly in the heart; were England now,
What England was, plain, hofpitable, kind,
And undebauch'd. But we have bid farewell,
To all the virtues of those better days,

And all their honeft pleasures. Mansions once
Knew their own mafters, and laborious hinds,
That had surviv'd the father, serv'd the son.
Now the legitimate and rightful Lord,
Is but a tranfient gu:ft, newly arriv'd,
And foon to be fupplanted. He that faw

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