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That seizes first the opulent, descends
To the next rank contagious, and in time
Taints downward all the graduated scale
Of order, from the chariot to the plough.

585

The rich, and they that have an arm to check
The license of the lowest in degree,

Desert their office; and themselves, intent

On pleasure, haunt the capital, and thus

590

To all the violence of lawless hands

Resign the scenes their presence might protect.
Authority herself not seldom sleeps,

Though resident, and witness of the wrong.

The plump convivial parson often bears

595

The magisterial sword in vain, and lays
His rev'rence and his worship both to rest
On the same cushion of habitual sloth.

Perhaps timidity restrains his arm;

When he should strike he trembles, and sets free, 600
Himself enslav'd by terrour of the band-

Th' audacious convict whom he dares not bind.
Perhaps though by profession ghostly pure,
He, too, may have his vice, and sometimes prove
Less dainty than becomes his grave outside
In lucrative concerns. Examine well

605

His milk-white hand; the palm is harldly clean-
But here and there an ugly smutch appears.
Foh! 'twas a bribe that left it: he has touch'd
Corruption. Whoso seeks an audit here
Propitious, pays his tribute, game or fish,
Wild fowl or venison: and his errand speeds.
But faster far, and more than all the rest,

610

A noble cause, which none, who bears a spark

Of publick virtue, ever wish'd remov'd,

615

Works the deplor'd and mischievous effect. 'Tis universal soldiership has stabb❜d

The heart of merit in the meaner class.
Arms, through the vanity and brainless rage
Of those that bear them, in whatever cause,

620

Seem most at variance with all moral good,
And incompatible with serious thought.
The clown, the child of nature, without guile,
Blest with an infant's ignorance of all

But his own simple pleasures; now and then
A wrestling match, a foot-race, or a fair;
Is balloted, and trembles at the news:
Sheepish he doffs his hat, and mumbling swears
A bible oath to be whate'er they please,
To do he knows not what.

625

The task perform'd, 630

That instant he becomes the sergeant's care,

His pupil, and his torment, and his jest.

Bent knees, round shoulders, and dejected looks,

His awkward gait, his introverted toes,

Procure him many a curse. By slow degrees,

635

Unapt to learn, and form'd of stubborn stuff,

He yet by slow degrees puts off himself,

Grows conscious of a change, and likes it well:
He stands erect: his slouch becomes a walk;
He steps right onward, martial in his air,

640

His form and movement; is as smart above

As meal and larded locks can make him; wears

His hat, or his plum'd helmet, with a grace;
And, his three years of heroship expir'd,
Returns indignant to the slighted plough.
He hates the field, in which no fife or drum
Attends him; drives his cattle to a march;
And sighs for the smart comrades he has left.
"Twere well if his exteriour change were all-
But with his clumsy port the wretch has lost
His ignorance and harmless manners too.
To swear, to game, to drink; to show at home

645.

650

By lewdness, idleness, and sabbath breach,

The great proficiency he made abroad;

T' astonish, and to grieve his gazing friends;

655

To break some maiden's and his mother's heart:

To be a pest where he was useful once;

Are his sole aim, and all his glory, now.

Man in society is like a flow'r

Blown in its native bed; 'tis there alone

660

His faculties, expanded in full bloom,

Shine out; there only reach their proper use.

But man, associated and leagued with man

By regal warrant or self-join'd by bond
For int'rest sake, or swarming into clans
Beneath one head for purposes of war,

665

Like flow'rs selected from the rest, and bound

And bundled close to fill some crowded vase,
Fades rapidly, and, by compression marr'd,
Contracts defilement not to be endur'd.

670

Hence charter'd boroughs are such publick plagues And burghers, men immaculate perhaps

In all their private functions, once combin'd,
Become a loathsome body, only fit
For dissolution, hurtful to the main.
Hence merchants, unimpeachable of sin
Against the charities of domestick life,
Incorporated, seem at once to lose
Their nature; and, disclaiming all regard
For mercy and the common rights of man,
Build factories with blood, conducting trade

675

680

At the sword's point, and dying the white robe

Of innocent commercial Justice red.

Hence, too, the field of glory, as the world

Misdeems it, dazzled by its bright array,

685

With all its majesty of thund'ring pomp,

Enchanting musick, and immortal wreaths,

Is but a school, where thoughtlessness is taught
On principle, where foppery atones

For folly, gallantry for ev'ry vice.

690

But slighted as it is, and by the great Abandon'd, and, which still I more regret, Infected with the manners and the modes

It knew not once, the country wins me still.
I never fram'd a wish, or form'd a plan,
That flatter'd me with hopes of earthly bliss,

695

But there I laid the scene. There early stray'd
My fancy, ere yet liberty of choice

Had found me, or the hope of being free.
My very dreams were rural; rural too
The first-born efforts of my youthful muse,
Sportive and jingling her poetick bells,
Ere yet her ear was mistress of their pow'rs.

700

No bard could please me but whose lyre was tun'd
To Nature's praises. Heroes and their feats
Fatigu'd me, never weary of the pipe

705

Of Tityrus, assembling, as he sang,

The rustick throng beneath his fav'rite beech.
Then Milton had indeed a poet's charms :
New to my taste, his Paradise surpass'd
The struggling efforts of my boyish tongue
To speak its excellence. I danc'd for joy.
I marvell'd much that, at so ripe an age

710

As twice seven years, his beauties had then first

Engag'd my wonder; and admiring still,

715

And still admiring, with regret suppos'd

The joy half lost, because not sooner found.
There, too, enamour'd of the life I lov'd,
Pathetick in its praise, in its pursuit
Determin'd and possessing it at last,
With transports such as favour'd lovers feel,
I studied, priz'd, and wish'd that I had known,
Ingenious Cowley! and, though now reclaim'd
By modern lights from an erroneous taste,
I cannot but lament thy splendid wit
Entangled in the cobwebs of the schools.

720

725

I still revere thee, courtly though retir'd;

Though stretch'd at ease in Chertsey's silent bow'rs,
Not unemploy'd; and finding rich amends
For a lost world in solitude and verse.

730

"Tis born with all: the love of Nature's works Is an ingredient in the compound man,

Infus'd at the creation of the kind.

And, though th' Almighty Maker has throughout

Discriminated each from each, by strokes
And touches of his hand, with so much art
Diversified, that two were never found
Twins at all points-yet this obtains in all
That all discern a beauty in his works,

735

And all can taste them: minds that have been form'd And tutor'd with a relish more exact,

741

But none without some relish, none unmov'd.

It is a flame that dies not even there,

Where nothing feeds it: neither business, crowds,
Nor habits of luxurious city life,

745

Whatever else they smother of true worth

In human bosoms, quench it or abate.

The villas, with which London stands begirt,
Like a swarth Indian with his belt of beads
Prove it. A breath of unadult'rate air

750

The glimpse of a green pasture, how they cheer
The citizen, and brace his languid frame!
E'en in the stifling bosom of the town

A garden, in which nothing thrives, has charms
That sooth the rich possessor; much consol'd,
That here and there some sprigs of mournful mint
Of nightshade, or valerian, grace the well
He cultivates. These serve him with a hint
That Nature lives; that sight-refreshing green
Is still the liv'ry she delights to wear,
Though sickly samples of th' exub'rant whole.
What are the casements lin'd with creeping herbs,
The prouder sashes fronted with a range

755

760

Of orange, myrtle, or the fragrant weed,

The Frenchman's darling?* are they not all proofs, That man, immur'd in cites, still retains

766

His inborn inextinguishable thirst

Of rural scenes, compensating his loss

By supplemental shifts, the best he may?

The most unfurnish'd with the means of life,

770

And they, that never pass their brick-wall bounds,

* Mignionette,

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