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The nurse sleeps fweetly, hired to watch the fick Whom fnoring she disturbs. As fweetly he

Who quits the coach-box at the midnight hour
To sleep within the carriage more secure,
His legs depending at the open door.
Sweet fleep enjoys the Curate in his desk,
The tedious Rector drawling o'er his head,
And sweet the Clerk below: but neither sleep
Of lazy Nurse, who fnores the fick man dead,
Nor his who quits the box at midnight hour
To flumber in the carriage more fecure,
Nor fleep enjoy'd by Curate in his desk,
Nor yet the dozings of the Clerk are fweet,
Compared with the repofe the SOFA yields.

Oh may I live exempted (while I live
Guiltless of pamper'd appetite obscene)
From pangs arthritic that infeft the toe
Of libertine excefs. The SOFA fuits
The gouty limb, 'tis true; but gouty limb

Though

Though on a SOFA, may I never feel:
For I have loved the rural walk through lanes
Of graffy fwarth close cropt by nibbling sheep,
And skirted thick with intertexture firm

Of thorny boughs: have loved the rural walk
O'er hills, through valleys, and by rivers brink,
E'er fince a truant boy I pass'd my bounds
T'enjoy a ramble on the banks of Thames.
And still remember, nor without regret
Of hours that forrow fince has much endear'd,
How oft, my flice of pocket store confumed,
Still hung'ring pennyless and far from home,
I fed on scarlet hips and ftoney haws,
Or blushing crabs, or berries that imbofs
The bramble, black as jet, or floes auftere.
Hard fare! but fuch as boyish appetite
Disdains not, nor the palate undepraved
By culinary arts, unfav'ry deems.

No SOFA then awaited my return,

Nor SOFA then I needed. Youth repairs

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His wafted spirits quickly, by long toil

Incurring short fatigue; and though our years
As life declines, fpeed rapidly away,

And not a year but pilfers as he goes

Some youthful grace that age would gladly keep,
A tooth or auburn lock, and by degrees

Their length and color from the locks they fpare;
Th' elastic spring of an unwearied foot

That mounts the ftile with ease, or leaps the fence,
That play of lungs inhaling and again
Respiring freely the fresh air, that makes
Swift pace or steep afcent no toil to me,
Mine have not pilfer'd yet; nor yet impair'd
My relish of fair profpect; fcenes that footh'd
Or charm'd me young, no longer young, I find
Still foothing and of power to charm me still,
And witness, dear companion of my walks,
Whose arm this twentieth winter I perceive
Fast lock'd in mine, with pleasure fuch as love
Confirm'd by long experience of thy worth

And

And well-tried virtues could alone infpire-
Witness a joy that thou haft doubled long.
Thou know'ft my praise of nature moft fincere,
And that my raptures are not conjured up
To ferve occafions of poetic pomp,

But genuine, and art partner of them all..
How oft upon yon eminence, our pace

Has flacken'd to a pause, and we have borne
The ruffling wind fcarce confcious that it blew,
While admiration feeding at the eye,

And ftill unfated, dwelt upon the scene.

Thence with what pleasure have we just discern'd
The distant plough flow-moving, and befide
His lab'ring team that fwerv'd not from the track,
The sturdy fwain diminish'd to a boy!
Here Oufe, flow winding through a level plain
Of spacious meads with cattle fprinkled o'er,
Conducts the eye along his finuous courfe
Delighted. There, faft rooted in his bank
Stand, never overlook'd, our fav'rite elms

That

That fcreen the herdfman's folitary hut;
While far beyond and overthwart the stream
That as with molten glass inlays the vale,
The floping land recedes into the clouds;
Displaying on its varied fide, the grace

Of hedge-row beauties numberlefs, fquare tow'r,
Tall fpire, from which the found of chearful bells
Juft undulates upon the lift'ning ear;

Groves, heaths, and fmoking villages remote.

Scenes must be beautiful which daily view'd
Please daily, and whose novelty furvives

Long knowledge and the scrutiny of

years.

Praise justly due to those that I describe.

Nor rural fights alone, but rural founds
Exhilarate the fpirit, and reftore

The tone of languid Nature. Mighty winds
That sweep the skirt of fome far-fpreading wood
Of ancient growth, make mufic not unlike
The dash of ocean on his winding shore,

And

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