And in your towns, that prospect gives delight,
Which opens round the country to our sight.
Men to the good, from which they rashly fly,
Return at last; and their wild luxury
Does but in vain with those true joys contend,
Which Nature did to mankind recommend.
The man who changes gold for burnish'd brass,
Or small right gems for larger ones of glass,
Is not, at length, more certain to be made
Ridiculous, and wretched by the trade,
Than he, who sells a solid good, to buy
The painted goods of pride and vanity.
If thou be wise, no glorious fortune choose,
Which 'tis but pain to keep, yet grief to lose!
For, when we place ev'n trifles in the heart,
With trifles too, unwillingly we part.

An humble roof, plain bed, and homely board,
More clear, untainted pleasures do afford,
Than all the tumult of vain greatness brings
To kings, or to the favourites of kings.
The horned deer, by nature arm'd so well,
Did with the horse in common pasture dwell,
And, when they fought, the field it always wan,
Till the ambitious horse begg'd help of man,
And took the bridle, and thenceforth did reign
Bravely alone, as lord of all the plain;
But never after could the rider get

From off his back, or from his mouth the bit.
So they, who poverty too much do fear,

T' avoid that weight, a greater burthen bear;
That they might power above their equals have,
To cruel masters they themselves enslave.
For gold, their liberty exchang'd we see,
That fairest flower which crowns humanity 3.
And all this mischief does upon them light,
Only, because they know not how, aright,
That great, but secret, happiness to prize,
That 's laid up in a little, for the wise:
That is the best and easiest estate,
Which to a man sits close, but not too strait;
'Tis like a shoe; it pinches and it burns,
Too narrow; and too large, it overturns.
My dearest friend! stop thy desires at last,
And chearfully enjoy the wealth thou hast :
And, if me still seeking for more you see,
Chide and reproach, despise and laugh at me.
Money was made, not to command our will,
But all our lawful pleasures to fulfil :
Shame and woe to us, if we our wealth obey;
The horse doth with the horseman run away.

The specious inconveniences, that wait
Upon a life of business, and of state,
He sees (nor does the sight disturb his rest
By fools desir'd, by wicked men possest.
Thus, thus (and this deserv'd great Virgil's
praise)

The old Corycian yeoman pass'd his days;
Thus his wise life Abdolonymus spent:

Th' ambassadors, which the great emperor sent
To offer him a crown, with wonder found
The reverend gardener hoeing of his ground;
Unwillingly, and slow, and discontent,
From his lov'd cottage to a throne he went;
And oft he stopt, in his triumphant way:
And oft look'd back, and oft was heard to say,
Not without sighs, Alas! I there forsake

[eye,

A happier kingdom than I go to take !
Thus Aglaus (a man unknown to men,
But the gods knew, and therefore lov'd him then)
Thus liv'd obscurely then without a name,
Aglaüs, now consign'd t' eternal fame.
For Gyges, the rich king, wicked and great,
Presum'd, at wise Apollo's Delphic seat
Presum'd, to ask, "Oh thou, the whole world's
See'st thou a man that happier is than I?"
The god, who scorn'd to flatter man, reply'd,
"Aglaüs happier is.". But Gyges cry'd,
In a proud rage, "Who can that Aglaüs be!
We have heard, as yet, of no such king as he."
And true it was, through the whole Earth around
No king of such a name was to be found.
"Is some old hero of that name alive,
Who his high race docs from the gods derive?
Is it some mighty general, that has done
Wonders in fight, and god-like honours won ?
Is it some man of endless wealth?" said he.
"None, none of these." "Who can this Aglaus
After long search, and vain inquiries past, [be?
In an obscure Arcadian vale at last

(Th' Arcadian life has always shady been)
Near Sopho's town (which he but once had seen)
This Aglaus, who monarch's envy drew,
Whose happiness the gods stood witness to,
This mighty Aglaüs, was labouring found,
With his own hands, in his own little ground.

So, gracious God! (if it may lawful be,
Among those foolish gods to mention thee)
So let me act, on such a private stage,
The last dull scenes of my declining age;
After long toils and voyages in vain,
This quiet port let my tost vessel gain;
Of heavenly rest, this earnest to me lend,
Let my life sleep, and learn to love her end.

THE COUNTRY LIFE.

Lib. IV. Plantarum,

BLEST be the man (and blest he is) whom e'er
(Plac'd far out of the roads of hope or fear)
A little field, and little garden, feeds:
The field gives all that frugal Nature needs;
The wealthy garden liberally bestows
All she can ask, when she luxurious grows.

3 The poet, as usual, expresses his own feeling: but he does more, he expresses it very classically. The allusion is to the ancient custom of wearing wreaths or garlands of flowers, on any occasion of joy and festivity. HURD

In no unactive ease, and no unglorious poverty.

Or as Virgil has said, shorter and better for me that I might there

Studiis florere ignobilis oti 4:

(though I could wish that he had rather said, nobilis oti, when he spoke of his own.) But several accidents of my ill-fortune have disappointed me hitherto, and do still, of that felicity; for though I have made the first and hardest step to it, by abandoning all ambitions and hopes in this world, and by retiring from the noise of all business and almost company, yet I stick still in the inn of a hired house and garden, among weeds and rubbish; and without that pleasantest work of human industry, the improvement of something which we call (not very properly, but yet we call) our own. I am gone out from Sodom, but I am not yet arrived at my little Zoar. "O let me escape thither (is it not a little one?) and my soul shall live." I do not look back yet; but I have been forced to stop, and make too many halts. You may wonder, sir, (for this seems a little too extravagant and pindarical for prose) what I mean by all this preface; it is to let you know, that though I have missed, like a chymist, my great end, yet I account my affections and endeavours well rewarded by something that I have met with by the by; which is, that they have procured to me some part in your kindness and esteem; and thereby the honour of having my name so advantageously recommended to posterity, by the epistle you are pleased to prefix to the most useful book that has been written in that kinds, and which is to last as long as months and years.

Among many other arts and excellencies, which you enjoy, I am glad to find this favourite of mine the most predominant; that you choose this for your wife, though you have hundreds of other arts for your concubines; though you know them, and beget sons upon them all (to which you are rich enough to allow great legacies), yet the issue of this seems to be designed by you to the main of the estate; you have taken most pleasure in it, and bestowed most charges upon its education: and I doubt not to see that book, which you are pleased to promise to the world, and of which you have given us a large earnest in your calendar, as accomplished, as any thing can be expected from an extraordinary wit, and no ordinary expenses, and a long experience. I know nobody that possesses more private happiness than you do in your garden; and yet no man, who makes his happiness more public, by a free communícation of the art and knowledge of it to others. All that I myself am able yet to do, is only to

4 Virg. Georg. iv. 564.

5 Mr. Evelyn's Kalendarium hortense; dedicated to Mr Cowley-The title explains the propriety of the compliment, that this book was to last as long as incnths and years. HURD.

For God, the universal architect,

"I had been as easy to erect

A Louvre or Escurial, or a tower
That might with Heaven communication hold,
As Babel vainly thought to do of old:

He wanted not the skill or power;
In the world's fabric those were shown,
And the materials were all his own.
But well he knew, what place would best agree
With innocence and with felicity;
And we elsewhere still seek for them in vain ;
If any part of either yet remain,
If any part of either we expect,
This may our judgment in the search direct;
God the first garden made, and the first city
Cain.

O blessed shades! O gentle, cool retreat

From all th' immoderate heat,
In which the frantic world does burn and sweat!
This does the Lion-star, ambition's rage;
This avarice, the Dog-star's thirst, assuage;
Every where else their fatal power we see,
They make and rule man's wretched destiny:
They neither set, nor disappear,
But tyrannize o'er all the year;
Whilst we ne'er feel their flame or influence
here.

The birds that dance from bough to bough,
And sing above in every tree,

Are not from fears and cares more free

Than we, who lie, or sit, or walk, below,

And should by right be singers too. What prince's choir of music can excel

That, which within this shade does dwell? To which we nothing pay or give; They, like all other poets, live Without reward, or thanks for their obliging pains:

'Tis well if they become not prey: The whistling winds add their less artful strains. And a grave bass the murmuring fountains play; Nature does all this harmony bestow,

But to our plants, art's music too,
The pipe, theorbo, and guittar, we owe;
The lute itself, which once was green and mute,
When Orpheus strook th' inspired lute,
The trees danc'd round, and understood
By sympathy the voice of wood.

These are the spells, that to kind sleep invite,
And nothing does within resistance make,

Which yet we moderately take;

Who would not choose to be awake, While he 's encompast round with such delight, To th' ear, the nose, the touch, the taste, and

sight!

When Venus would her dear Ascanius keep

A prisoner in the downy bands of sleep,

When the great Hebrew king did almost strain The wondrous treasures of his wealth and brain, His royal southern guest to entertain;

Though she on silver floors did tread, With bright Assyrian carpets on them spread, To hide the metal's poverty; Though she look'd up to roofs of gold, And rought around her could behold But silk and rich embroidery, And Babylonish tapestry,

And wealthy Hiram's princely dye; Though Ophir's starry stones met every where her eye;

Though she herself and her gay host were drest
With all the shining glories of the East;
When lavish Art her costly work had done,
The honour and the prize of bravery
Was by the garden from the palace won;
And every rose and lily there did stand
Better attir'd by Nature's hand 7.
The case thus judg'd against the king we see,
By one, that would not be so rich, though wiser
far than he.

Nor does this happy place only dispense
Such various pleasures to the sense;
Here health itself does live,

That salt of life, which does to all a relish give,

When Epicurus to the world had taught,

That pleasure was the chiefest good, (And was, perhaps, i' th' right, if rightly under

His life he to his doctrine brought, [stood) And in a garden 's shade that sovereign pleasure sought:

Whoever a true epicure would be,
May there find cheap and virtuous luxury.
Vitellius's table, which did hold
As many creatures as the ark of old;
That fiscal table, to which every day
All countries did a constant tribute pay,
Could nothing more delicious afford

Than Nature's liberality,
Help'd with a little art and industry,
Allows the meanest gardener's board.
The wanton taste no fish or fowl can choose,
For which the grape or melon she would lose;
Though all th' inhabitants of sea and air
Be listed in the glutton's bill of fare,

Yet still the fruits of earth we see
Plac'd the third story high in all her luxury.

But with no sense the garden does comply,
None courts, or flatters, as it does, the eye.
Virg. Æn, i. 695.

The body's virtue, and the soul's good-fortune, health.

The tree of life, when it in Eden stood,
Did its immortal head to Heaven rear;
It lasted a tall cedar, till the flood;
Now a small thorny shrub it does appear
Nor will it thrive too every where:
It always here is freshest seen;
"Tis only here an ever-green.

If, through the strong and beauteous fence
Of temperance and innocence,

And wholesome labours, and a quiet mind,
Any diseases passage find,

They must not think here to assail
A land unarmed or without a guard;
They must fight for it, and dispute it hard,
Before they can prevail:

Scarce any plant is growing here,
Which against death some weapon does not

bear.

Let cities boast, that they provide For life the ornaments of pride; But 'tis the country and the field,

That furnish it with staff and shield.

Where does the wisdom and the power divine
In a more bright and sweet reflection shine?
Where do we finer strokes and colours see
Of the Creator's real poetry,

Than when we with attention look
Upon the third day's volume of the book?
If we could open and intend our eye,

We all, like Moses, should espy Ev'n in a bush the radiant Deity. But we despise these his inferior ways (Though no less full of miracle and praise):

Upon the flowers of Heaven we gaze; The stars of Earth no wonder in us raise,

? Matth. vi. 29.

Though these perhaps do, more than they,
The life of mankind sway.

Although no part of mighty Nature be
More stor'd with beauty, power and mystery;
Yet, to encourage human industry,
God has so order'd, that no other part
Such space and such dominion leaves for Art.

We no-where Art do so triumphant see,

As when it grafts or buds the tree:
In other things we count it to excel,
If it a docile scholar can appear
To Nature, and but imitate her well;

It over-rules, and is her master, here.

It imitates her Maker's power divine,

And changes her sometimes, and sometimes does refine :

It does, like grace, the fallen tree restore
To its blest state of Paradise before:
Who would not joy to see his conquering hand
O'er all the vegetable world command?
And the wild giants of the wood receive
What law he's pleas'd to give?
He bids th' ill-natur'd crab produce
The gentler apple's winy juice,

The golden fruit, that worthy is
Of Galatea's purple kiss:

He does the savage hawthorn teach
To bear the medlar and the pear:
He bids the rustic plum to rear
Á noble trunk, and be a peach.
Ev'n Daphne's coyness he does mock,
And weds the cherry to her stock,
Though she refus'd Apollo's suit;
Ev'n she, that chaste and virgin tree,
Now wonders at herself, to see

That she's a mother made, and blushes in her fruit.

Methinks, I see great Dioclesian walk
In the Salonian garden's noble shade,
Which by his own imperial hands was made:
I see him smile, methinks, as he does talk
With the ambassadors, who come in vain

T' entice him to a throne again. "IfI, my friends" (said he) "should to you show All the delights which in these gardens grow, "Tis likelier much, that you should with me stay, Than 'tis, that you should carry me away: And trust me not, my friends, if every day, I walk not here with more delight, Than ever, after the most happy sight, In triumph to the Capitol I rode, To thank the gods, and to be thought myself, almost a god."

VI.

OF GREATNESS.

SINCE we cannot attain to greatness "(says the sieur de Montagne)" let us have our revenge by railing at it:" this he spoke but in jest. I believe he desired it no more than I do, and had less reason; for he enjoyed so plentiful and honourable a fortune in a most excellent country, as allowed him all the real conveniences of it, separated and

purged from the incommodities. If 1 were but in his condition, I should think it hard measure, without being convinced of any crime, to be se questered from it, and made one of the principal officers of state. But the reader may think that what I now say is of small authority, because I never was, nor ever shall be, put to the trial: I can therefore only make my protestation,

If ever I more riches did desire
Than cleanliness and quiet do require:
If e'er ambition did my fancy cheat,
With any wish, so mean as to be great;
Continue, Heaven, still from me to remove
The humble blessings of that life I love.

I know very many men will despise, and some pity me, for this humour, as a poor-spirited fellow; but I am content, and, like Horace, thank God for being so.

Di bene fecerunt, inopis me quódque pusilli
Finxerunt animi 8.

I confess, I love littleness almost in all things, A little convenient estate, a little cheerful house, a little company, and a very little feast; and, if I were ever to fall in love again (which is a great passion, and therefore, I hope, I have done with it) it would be, I think, with prettiness, rather than with majestical beauty. I would neither wish that my mistress, nor my fortune, should be a bona roba, nór, ás Homer uses to describe his beauties, like a daughter of great Jupiter for the stateliness and largeness of her person; but, as Lucretius says,

Parvola, pumilio,Xagirav μla, tota merum sal 9.

Where there is one man of this, I believe there are a thousand of Senecio's mind, whose ridiculous affectation of grandeur Seneca the elder describes to this effect: "Senecio was a man of a turbid and confused wit, who could not endure to speak any but mighty words and sentences, till this humour grew at last into so notorious a habit, or rather disease, as became the sport of the whole town: he would have no servants, but huge, mas sy fellows; no plate or household-stuff, but thrice as big as the fashion: you may believe me, for I speak it without raillery, his extravagancy came at last into such a madness, that he would not put on a pair of shoes, each of which was not big enough for both his feet: he would eat nothing but what was great, nor touch any fruit but horseplums and pound-pears: he kept a concubine, that was a very giantess, and made her walk too always in chiopins, till at last he got the surname of Senecio Grandio, which Messala said, was not his cognomen, but his cognomentum: when he deI claimed for the three hundred Lacedæmonians, who alone opposed Xerxes's army of above three hundred thousand, he stretched out his arms, and stood on tiptoes, that he might appear the taller, and cried out, in a very loud voice; I rejoice, I rejoice.'-We wondered, I remember, what new great fortune had befallen his eminence.

81 Sat. iv. 17. 1 Suasoriarum Liber.

Xerxes

9 Lucr. iv. 1155. Suas. 11.