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In some small hamiet 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 spreads his ample shade,
Fancy has figur'd out our calmo retreat :
Already, round the visionary feat,
Our limes begin to Thoot, our flow’rs to fpring,
The brooks to marmur, and the birds to fing.
Where doft thoy lie, thou thinly-peopled green ;
Thou nameless lawn, and village yet unseen ;
Where fons, contented with their native ground,
Ne'er travel farther than ten furlongs round;
And the tann'd peasant, 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 rise,
With sweets furrounded of ten thousand dyes;
All favage where th' embroider'd gardens end,
The haunt of echoes fall my woods ascend ;
And, 9! 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 scents those bord'ring banks exhale !
How loud that heifer lows from yonder vale !
That thruf, how fhrill! his note so clear, so high,
He drowns each feather'd minstrel of the sky,
Here let me trace, beneath the purpled morn,
The deep-mouth'd beagle, and the sprightly horn;
Or lure the tropt with well-diffembled flies,
Or fetch the flatt'ring partridge from the skies :
Nor shall thy hand disdain 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.

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Sometimes my books by day shall kill the hours,
While from thy needle rise the filken flow'rs ;
And thou, by turns, to ease my feeble fight,
Resume the volume, and deceive the night.
O! when I mark thy. twinkling eyes oppress’d,
Soft whisp’ring, let me warii my love to rest ;
Then watch thee, charm'd, while sleep locks every sense,
And to fweet Heav'n commend thy innocence.
Thus reign'd our fathers o'er the rural fold,
Wise, hale, and honest, in the days of old;
Till courts arose, where substance

pays

for show,
And fpecious jays 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 sneaks away,
To fhun the with’ring dame that made him gay.
That knave, to gain a title, loft his fame;
That rais'd his credit by a daughter's shame :
This coxcomb's ribband cost him half his land;
And oaks unnumber'd bought that fool a wand.
Fond man, as all his sorrows were too fewe
Acquires strange wants that Nature never knew!
By midnight-lamps he emulates the day, -
And sleeps, perverse, the chearful suns away ;
From goblets high emboss’d his wine must glide;
Round his clos'd fight the gorgeous curtain slide ;
Fruits, ere their time, to grace his pomp, must rise,
And three untasted courses glut his eyes.
For this are Nature's gentle calls withitood,
The voice of conscience, 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 scoru'd from age to age,
Since bards began to laugh, or priests to rage :
And yet, just curse on man's aspiring kind,
Prone to ambition, to example blind,

Our

Our children's children fall our steps pursue,
And the same errors be for ever new !
Meanwhile, in hope a guiltless country swain,
My reed with warblings chears th’imagin'd plain.
Hail, humble shades, where truth and silence dwell!
Thou, noisy town, and faithless court, farewel !
Farewel ambition, once my darling flame!
The thirst of lucre, and the charm of fame!
In life’s bye-road, that winds thro’ paths unknown,
My days, tho' number'd, Thall be all my own!
Here shall they end (O might they twice begin!)
And all be white the fates intend to spin.

THE CIT’S COUNTRY-BOX.

BY MR. ROBERT LLOYD,

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

HOR

ΤΗ

HE wealthy cit, grown old in trade,

Now wishes for the rural shade,
And buckles to his one-horse 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 stool 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
And longs for ev'ry house she fees,

the trees,

Admires

Admires it's views, it's fituation,
And thus the opens her oration.

• What fignifies the loads of wealth,

Without that richest jewel, health ?
• Excuse the fondness of a wife,
• Who doats upon your precious life!
• Such easeless toil, such conftant care,
• Is more than human strength can bear:
• One may observe it in your faca
• Indeed, my dear, you break apace ;
• And nothing can your health repair,
• Bnt 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 (neer
• One would sxot be out-done, my dear!"

Sir Traffick's name so well apply'd,
Awak'd his brother merchant's pride ;
And Thrifty, who had all his life
Paid utmost deference to his wife,
Confess'd her arguments had reason;
And by th' approaching summer season,
Draws a few hundreds from the stocks,
And purchases his Country-box.

Some three or fout 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 so convenient does it lay,
The ftages 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,
You're fet down at the very door.

1

. Well

Well then, suppose them fix'd at laft,
White-washing, painting, scrubbing past;
Hugging themselves in eafe and clover,
With all the fuss of moving over ;
Lo, a new heap of whims are bred,
And wanton in my lady's head !

• Well; to be sure, it must be own'd, • It is a charming spot of ground :

So sweet a distance for a ride, « And all about fo countrify'd ! « 'Twould come to but a trilling price • To make it quite a paradise ! ! I cannot bear those naity rails, • Those ugly, broken, mouldy pales :

Suppose, my dear, instead of these, • We build a railing all Chinese ; • Altho' one hates to be expos’d,

'Tis dismal to be thus enclos'd: • One hardly any object fees • I wish you'd fell those odious trees.

Objects continual passing by, "Were something to amuse the eye; s But to be pent within the walls, • One might as well be at St. Paul's. . Our house, beholders would adore, • Was there a level lawn before, • Nothing it's views to incommode, . But quite laid open to the road; • While ev'ry trav’ller in amaze,

Should on our little mansion gaze; · And pointing to the choice retreat, { Cry, “ That's Sir. Thrifty's country-feat!"

No doubt her arguments prevail, For Madam's TASTE can never fail.

Bless’d age! when all men may procure The title of a connoisseur ;

Bb

Wher

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