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The light unloaded Stem, from Tempest freed,
Will raise the youthful Honours of his Head;
And, foon restor'd by native Vigour, bear
The timely Produ&t of the bounteous Year:
As when a Field
Of Ceres, ripe for Harvest, waving bends
Her bearded Grove of Ears, which way the Wind
Sways them; the careful Plowman doubting stands,
Left on the
threshing Floor his hopeful Sheaves Prove Chaff.
COUNSELLOR, and Juftice of the Peace:
An old dull Sot, who'ad told the Clock,
For many Years at Bride wel Dock,
At Westminster and Hicks's Hall;
And Hiltins-Dotius play'd in all :
Where in all Governments and Times,
He’ad been both Friend and Foe to Crimes :
And us'd Two equal ways of gaining,
By hind'ring Justice, or maintaining:
To many a Whore gave Privilege,
And whip'd for want of Quarteridge:
Cart-loads of Bawds to Prifon fent,
For being behind a Fortnight's Rent;
And many a trusty Pimp and Crony,
To Puddle-Dock, for want of Money.
Engag'd the Constable to fieze
All those who would not break the Peace;
Nor give him back his own foul Words,
Tho' sometimes Commoners or Lords :
And kept them Prisoners of Course,
For being sober at ill Hours;
That in the Morning he might free,
Or bind them over, for his Fee.
Made Monsters fine, and Puppet-Plays,
For leave to practise in their Ways.
Farm'd out all Cheats, and went á Share
With th'Headborough and Scavenger,
And made the Dirt i'th'Street compound
For taking up the publick Ground.
The Kennel and the King's High-way,
For being unmolested, pay.
Let out the Stocks, and Whipping.Poft,
And Cage, to those that give him moft.
Impos'd a Tax on Baker's Ears,
And for false Weights on Chandelers.
Made Vi&uallers and Vintners fine
For arbiçrary Ale and Winc.
But was a kind and constant Friend
To all that regularly offend
As Residentiary Bawds,
And Brokers that receive stol'n Goods ;
That cheat in lawful Mysteries,
And pay Church Duties and his Fees :
But was implacable and aukward
To such as interlop'd and bauker'd.
To this brave Man the Knight repairs
For Counsel in his Law Affairs;
And found him mounted in his Pew,
With Books and Money plac'd for Shew,
Like Neft-Eggs, to make Clients lay,
And for his false Opinion pay.
To whom the Knight with comely Grace,
Put off his Hat, to put his Case ::
Which he as proudly entertain'd,
As th'other courteously strain'd:
And to assure him 'twas not that
He look'd for, bid him put on's Hat.
Hail old patrician Trees ! so great and good!
Hail ye Plebian Underwood !
Where the poetick Birds rejoyce, And for their quiet Nests and plenteous Food,
Pay with their graceful Voice.
Hail the poor Muses richest Mannour-Seat!
Ye Country-Houses and Retreat !
Which all the happy Gods so love,
That for you oft they quit
Their bright and great Metropolis above.
Here Nature does a House for me erect ;
Nature, the wiseft Architect !
Who those fond Artists does d spise, That can the fair and living Trees neglect,
Yet the dead Timber prize. Here let me, careless and unthoughtful lying,
Hear the soft Winds above me flying,
With all the wanton Boughs dispute, And the more tuneful Birds to both replying ;
Nor be my self too mute. A silver Scream ftill rouls his Waters near,
Gilt with Sun-beams here and there,
On whose enamel'd Bank I'll walk, And see how prettily they smile, and hear
How prectily chey talk.
O Fountains! When in
My felf, eas'd of unpeaceful Thoughts, espy?
O Fields! O Woods! When, when shall I be made
The happy Tenant of your Shade ?
Here's the Spring-head of Pleasure's Flood,
Where all the Riches lie, that she
Has coin'd and stamp'd for Good.
Pride and Ambition here,
Only in far-fetch'd Metaphors appear.
Here nought but Winds can hurtful Murmurs scatter,
And nought but Eche flatter.
The Gods when they descended, hither
From Heav'n did always chuse their Way,
And therefore we may boldly fay,
That 'tis the Way too thither.
How happy in his
How rich in humble Poverty is he,
Who leads a quiet Country-Life,
Discharg'd of Bus'nefs, void of Strife,
And from the griping Scriv'ner free!
Nor Trumpets summon him to War,
Nor Dreams disturb his Morning Sleep;
Nor knows he Merchants gainful Care,
Nor fears the Dangers of the Deep.
The Clamours of contentious Law,
And Court and State he wisely shuns
Nor brib'd with Hopes, nor dar'd with Awe
To survile Salutations rụns.
But either to the clasping Vine
Does the supporting. Poplar wed,
Or with his Pruning-Hook disjoyn.
Unbearing Branches from their Head,
And grafts more happy in their stead.
Or climbing to a hilly Steep,
He views. his Herds in Vales afar,
Or shears his over-burthen'd Sheep,
Or Mead for cooling Drink prepares
Of Virgin-Honey in the Jars.
Or in the new declining Year,
When bounteous Autumn rears his Head,
He joys to pull the ripen'd Pear,
And clustering Grapes, with purple Spread
Sometimes beneath an ancient Oak,
Or on the matced Grass he lies;
No God of Sleep he need invoke,
The Stream that e'er the Pebbles flies,
With gentle Slumber crowns his Eyes
The Wind, that whistles thro' the Sprays,
Maintains the Confort of the Song,
And hidden Birds with native Lays
The golden Sleep prolong.
But when the Blast of Winter blows,
And hoàry Frost inverts the Year,
Into the naked Woods he goes,
And seeks the rusky Boar to rear,
With well-mouth'd Hounds and pointed Spear.
Or spreads his subtle Nets from Sight,
With twinkling Glasses to betray
The Larks chat in the Meshes light:
Or makes the fearful Hare his Prey.
Amidst his harmless easy Joys
No anxious Cares invade his Health ;
Nor Love his Peace of Mind destroys,
Nor wicked Avarice of Wealth.
Thus e'er the Seeds of Vice were sown,
Liv'd Men in better Ages born ;
Who plow'd with Oxen of their own,
Their small paternal Field of Corn.
Oh let me in the Country range!
'Tis there we breathe, 'cis there we live :
The beauteous Scene of aged
Smiling Valleys, murm'ring Fountains ;
Lambs in flow'ry Pastures bleating,
Echo our Complaints repeating;
Bees with busie Sounds delighting,
Groves to genele Sleep inviting ;.
Whispering Winds the Poplars courting,
Swains in rustick Circles sporting;
Birds in chearful Notes exprefling,
Nature's Bounty, and their Blessing :
These afford a lasting Pleafure,
Without Guilt, and withour Measure.
Happy the Man, whom bounteous Gods allow
With his own Hands paternal Grounds to plow!
Like the first golden Mortals happy he,
From Bus'ness, and the Cares of Money free!
No human Storms break off at Land his Sleep,
No loud Alarms of Nature on the Deep:
From all the Gheats of Law he lives fecure,
Nor does th’Affronts of Palaces endure.
Sometimes civ beauteous marriageable Vine
He to the lusty Bridegroom Elm does join ;
Sometimes he lops the barren Trees around,
And grafts new Life into the fruitful Wound:
Sometimes he shears his Flock, and sometimes he
Stores up the golden Treasures of the Bee.
He sees the lowing Herds walk o'er the Plain,
While neighb'ring Hills low back to them again.
And when the Season rich as well as gay,
All her Autumnal Bounty does display,
How is he pleas'd th'encreasing Ule to see
Of his well-trufted Labours bend the Tree;
Of which large Stores, on the glad sacred Days,
He gives to Friends, and to the Gods repays.
With how much Joy does he beneath fome Shade;
By aged Trees rev'rend Embraces made,
His careless Head on the fresh Green recline,
His Head uncharg'd with Fear or with Delign.
By him a River constantly complains,
The Birds above rejoyce with various Strains ;
And in the folemn Scene their Orgies keep,
Like Dreams mix'd with the Gravity of Sleep.
Sleep, which does always there for Entrance wait,
And nought within againft it bars the Gate.
Nor does the roughest Season of the Sky,
Or fullen Jove all Sports to him deny.
He runs the Mazes of the nimble Hare,
His well-mouch'd Dogs glad Concert rends the Air
Or with Game bolder, and rewarded more,
He drives into a Toil the foaming Boar.
Here flies the Hawk t'assault, and there the Net
• To intercept the trav'lling Fowl is fet ;
And all his Malice, all his Craft iš shewn
In innocent Wars on Birds and Beasts alone.
This is the Life from all Misfortunes free,
From thee, the great one, Tyrant Love! from thee
And if a chaste and clean, tho' homely Wife,
Be added to the Blessings of his Life,
Such as Apulia, frugal fill, does bear,
Who makes her Children and her House her Care,
And joyfully the Work of Life does share ;
Nor thinks her self too noble'or too fine,
To pin the Sheepfold or to milk the Kine :
Who waits at Door against her Husband come
From rural Duties, late and weary'd, home;
Where she receives him with a kind Embracej
A chearful Fire and a more chearful Face,
And fills the Bowl up to her homely Lord,
And with domestick Plenty loads the Board :
Not all the luftful Shell-fish of the Sea,
Dress'd by the wanton Hand of Luxury