And wav'd his rod divine, a race obfcene,

Spawn'd in the muddy beds of Nile, came forth,
Polluting Ægypt. Gardens, fields, and plains
Were cover'd with the peft. The streets were
fill'd;

The croaking nuisance lurk'd in ev'ry nook,
Nor palaces nor even chambers 'scap'd,

And the land ftank, fo num'rous was the fry.

ARGUMENT of the THIRD Book.

Self-recollection and reprof.—Address to domeftic happinefs.-Some account of myself.-The vanity of many of their purfuits who are reputed wife.-Juftification of my cenfures.--Divine illumination necessary to the most expert philofopher.--The question, What is truth? anfwered by other questions.-Domestic happiness ad-` dreffed again.-Few lovers of the country.—My tame hare.-Occupations of a retired gentleman in his garden.-Pruning.-Framing. Greenhouse. Sowing of flower-feeds.-The country preferable to the town even in the winter.-Reasons why it is deferted at that feafon.- Ruinous effects of gaming and of expensive improvement.—Book concludes with an apostrophe to the metropolis

THE

TAS K.

воок

III.

GARDEN.

AS

ΤΗΣ

S one who, long in thickets and in brakes
Entangled, winds now this way and now

that

His devious courfe uncertain, feeking home;
Or having long in miry ways been foil'd
And fore discomfited, from flough to flough
Plunging, and half despairing of escape,

If chance at length he find a green-fward smooth
And faithful to the foot, his fpirits rife,

He chirrups brifk his ear-ere&ting steed,

And winds his way with pleasure and with case ; So I, defigning other themes, and call'd

E 2

T'ad

T'adorn the Sofa with eulogium due,

To tell its flumbers and to paint its dreams,
Have rambled wide. In country, city, seat
Of Academic fame (howe'er deferv'd)
Long held, and scarcely disengag'd at last.
But now with pleasant pace, a cleanlier road
I mean to tread. I feel myself at large,
Courageous, and refresh'd for future toil,
If toil await me, or if dangers new.

Since pulpits fail, and founding-boards reflect Moft part an empty ineffectual found, What chance that I, to fame fo little known, Nor converfant with men or manners much, Should speak to purpose, or with better hope Crack the fatiric thong? 'twere wiser far For me, enamour'd of fequefter'd fcenes,

And charm'd with rural beauty, to repose

Where chance may throw me, beneath elm or

vine,

My languid limbs when fummer fears the plains,

Or when rough winter rages, on the soft

And shelter'd Sofa, while the nitrous air

Feeds a blue flame, and makes a chearful hearth;
There, undisturb'd by folly, and appriz'd
How great the danger of disturbing her,

Το