Was but to boast his own peculiar good,

Which all might view with envy, none partake.

My charmer is not mine alone; my sweets,

And fhe that sweetens all my

bitters too,

Nature, enchanting Nature, in whose form
And lineaments divine I trace á hand

That errs not, and find raptures still renew'd,
Is free to all men, universal prize.

Strange that fo fair a creature should 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 flow'rs,

She lofes all her influence. Cities then

Attract us, and neglected Nature pines,
Abandon'd, as unworthy of our love.

But are not wholesome airs, though unperfum'd

By rofes; and clear funs, though fcarcely felt,
And groves, if unharmonious, yet fecure

From clamour, and whofe very filence charms,
To be preferr'd to smoke, to the eclipse

That

That Metropolitan volcanos make,

Whofe Stygian throats breathe darkness all day long, And to the stir 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 farewel
To all the virtues of those better days,

And all their honeft pleasures. Manfions once
Knew their own masters, and laborious hinds,
Who had furviv'd the father, ferv'd the fon.
Now the legitimate and rightful Lord

Is but a tranfient gueft, newly arriv'd,
And foon to be fupplanted. He that faw
His patrimonial timber caft its leaf,

Sells the last scantling, and transfers the price
To fome fhrewd sharper, ere it buds again.

Eftates are landscapes, gaz'd upon awhile,
Then advertis'd, and auctioneer'd away.

The

The country starves, and they that feed th' o'ercharg'd

And furfeited lewd town with her fair dues,
By a juft judgment ftrip and ftarve themselves.
The wings that waft our riches out of fight
Grow on the gamefter's elbows, and th' alert
And nimble motion of those restless joints,
That never tire, foon fans them all

away.

Improvement too, the idol of the age,

Is fed with many a victim. Lo! he comes-
The omnipotent magician, Brown, appears.
Down falls the venerable pile, th' abode
Of our forefathers, a grave whisker'd race,
But taftelefs. Springs a palace in its ftead,
But in a distant fpot; where more expos'd,
It may enjoy th' advantage of the north,
And aguish east, till time fhall have transform'd
Those naked acres to a fhelt'ring grove.

He fpeaks. The lake in front becomes a lawn,
Woods vanish, hills fubfide, and vallies rife,

And streams, as if created for his use,

Purfue

Pursue the track of his directing wand,

Sinuous or straight, now rapid and now flow,
Now murm'ring foft, now roaring in cascades,
Ev'n as he bids. Th' enraptur'd owner fmiles,
'Tis finifh'd; and yet, finifh'd as it seems,
Still wants a grace, th' lovelieft it could show,
A mine to fatisfy th' enormous cost.

Drain'd to the last poor item of his wealth,

He fighs, departs, and leaves th' accomplish'd plan
That he has touch'd, retouch'd, many a long day
Labor'd, and many a night purfu'd in dreams,

Juft when it meets his hopes, and proves
He wanted, for a wealthier to enjoy.

the heav'n

And now perhaps the glorious hour is come,

When, having no stake left, no pledge t' endear

Her int'refts, or that gives her facred caufe

A moment's operation on his love,
He burns with most intense and flagrant zeal
To ferve his country. Ministerial grace
Deals him out money from the public cheft,

Or, if that mine be fhut, fome private purse
Supplies his need with an ufurious loan,

To be refunded duly, when his vote,
Well-manag'd, fhall have earn'd its worthy price.
Oh innocent, compar'd with arts like these,

Crape and cock'd pistol, and the whistling ball
Sent through the trav'ller's temples! He that finds
One drop of heav'ns fweet mercy in his cup,

Can dig, beg, rot, and perish well-content,

So he may wrap himself in honest rags

At his last gasp; but could not for a world
Fifh up his dirty and dependent bread

From pools and ditches of the commonwealth,
Sordid and fick'ning at his own success.

Ambition, av'rice, penury incurr'd

By endless riot; vanity, the luft

Of pleasure and variety, dispatch,

As duly as the swallows difappear,

The world of wand'ring knights and fquires to town.

London