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The virgin, comely as the dewy rose,
Here gently sheds the foftly-whispering rill; }
The frannion, who ne fhame ne blushing knows
At once the potter's gloffy vafe does fill;
It whizzes like the waters from a mill.
Here frouzy housewives clear their loaded reins;
The beef-fed juftice, who fat ale doth swill,
Grafps the round-handled jar, and tries, and strains, While flowly dribbling down the scanty water drains. III.
The dame of Fraunce fhall without fhame convey This ready needment to its proper place; Yet fhall the daughters of the lond of Fay Learn better amenaunce and decent grace; Warm blushes lend a beauty to their face, For virtue's comely tints their cheeks adorn ; Thus o'er the diftant hillocks you may trace The purple beamings of the infant morn : Sweet are our blooming maids-the sweetest creatures
None but their hulbands or their lovers true
They trust with management of their affairs;
Nor even these their privacy may view,
When the foft beavys feek the bower by pairs:
Then from the fight accoy'd, like timorous hares,
From mate or bellamour alike they fly;
Think not, good swain, that these are scornful airs, Think not for hate they shun thine amorous eye, Soon fhall the fair return, nor done thee, youth, to dye. V. While
While Belgic frows across a charcoal stove
(Replenith'd like the Vestal's lasting fire)
Bren for whole years, and fcorch the parts of love,
No longer parts that can delight infpire,
Erft cave of blifs, now monumental pyre;
O British maid, for ever clean and neat,
For whom I aye will wake my fimple lyre,
With double care preferve that dun retreat,
Fair Venus' myftic bower, Dan Cupid's feather'd feat.
So may your hours soft-fliding steal away,
Unknown to gnarring flander and to bale,
O'er feas of blifs peace guide her gondelay,
Ne bitter dole impeft the paffing gale.
O! fweeter than the lilies of the dale,
In your foft breafts the fruits of joyance grow.
Ne fell defpair be here with vilage pale,
Brave be the youth from whom your bofoms glow, Ne other joy but you the faithful ftriplings know.
EPISTLE to J. PITT, Efq....
In Imitation of HORACE, Epift. IV. Book 1,
To all my trifles you attend, But drop the critic to indulge the friend,
And with most christian patience lose your time, fon To hear me preach, or pefter you with rhyme.
Here with my books or friend I fpend the day,
But how at Kingston pafs your hours away ?!
Say, fhall we fee fome plan with ravish'd eyes,
Some future pile in miniature arife?
(A model to excel in every part
Judicious Jones, or great Palladio's art)
Or fome new bill, that, when the house is met,
Shall claim their thanks, and pay the nation's debt ? !
Or have you study'd in the filent wood
The facred duties of the wife and good?
Nature, who form'd you, nobly crown'd the whole
With a strong body, and as firm a foul:
The praife is yours to finish every part
With all th' embellishments of tafte and art.
Some fee in canker'd heaps their riches roll'd,
Your bounty gives new luftre to your gold.
Could your dead father hope a greater blifs,
Or your furviving parent more than this?
Than fuch a fon--a lover of the laws,
And ever truc to honour's glorious cause :
Who fcorns all parties, though by parties fought:
Who greatly thinks, and truly speaks his thought:
With all the chafte feverity of fense,
Truth, judgment, wit, and manly eloquence.
So in his youth great Cato was rever'd,
By Pompey courted, and by Cæfar fear'd:
Both he difdain'd alike with godlike pride,
For Rome and Liberty he liv'd--and dy'd.
In each perfection as you rife fo fast,
Well may you think each day may be your laft.
Uncommon worth is ftill with fate at ftrife,
Still inconfiftent with a length of life.
The future time is ever in your power,
Then 'tis clear gain to feize the prefent hour; J
Break from the serious thought, and laugh away
In Pimpern walls one idle easy day.
You'll find your rhyming kinfman well in cafe,
For ever fix'd to the delicious place. --
with corpulence o'ergrown,
For he has twenty cures, and I but one.
In Imitation of HORACE, Epift. X. Book I. EALTH from the bard who loves the rural sport,
To the more noble bard that haunts the court:
In every other point of life we chime,
Like two foft lines when coupled into rhyme.
I praise a spacious villa to the sky,
You a close garret full five stories high;
I revel here in nature's varied sweets,
You in the nobler scents of London ftreets.
I left the court, and here at ease reclin'd,
Am happier than the king who staid behind :
Twelve ftifling dishes I could scarce live o'er,
At home I dine with luxury on four.
Where would a man of judgment chuse a seat,
But in a wholfome, rural, foft retreat?
Where hills adorn the mansion they defend ??
Where could he better answer nature's end?
Here from the fea the melting breezes rise, "K
Unbind the snow, and warm the wintry skies : il
Here gentle gales the dog-ftar's heat allay,
And foftly breathing cool the fultry day.
How free from cares, from dangers and affright,
In pleafing dreams I pass the silent night!
Does not the variegated marble yield
To the gay colours of the flowery field?
Can the New-River's artificial streams,
Or the thick waters of the troubled Thames,
In many a winding rusty pipe convey'd,
Or dafh'd and broken down a deep cascade,
With our clear filver ftreams in sweetness vie,
That in eternal rills run bubbling by;
In dimples o'er the polish'd pebbles pass,
Glide o'er the fands, or glitter through the grass ?
And yet in town the country prospects please,
Where stately colonades are flank'd with trees:
On a whole country looks the master down
With pride, where scarce five acres are his own.
Yet nature, though repell'd, maintains her part,
And in her turn the triumphs over art;
The hand-maid now may prejudice our taste,
But the fair mistress will prevail at last.
That man must smart at last whose puzzled fight
Mistakes in life falfe colours for the right;
As the poor, dupe is fure his lofs to rue,
Who takes a Pinchbeck guinea for a true.
The wretch, whofe frantic pride kind fortune crowns,
Grows twice as abject when the goddess frowns 31