And show this queen of cities, that so fair That she is flack in difcipline. More prompt And liberty, and oft-times honor too To peculators of the public gold. That thieves at home muft hang; but he that puts Into his overgorged and bloated purfe Have Have dwindled into unrefpected forms, God made the country, and man made the town, What wonder then, that health and virtue, gifts That can alone make sweet the bitter draught That life holds out to al!, fhould most abound And leaft be threatened in the fields and groves? Poffefs ye therefore, ye who borne about In chariots and fedans, know no fatigue But that of idleness, and tafte no scenes But fuch as art contrives, poffefs ye ftill Your element; there only ye can shine, There only minds like yours can do no harm. Our groves were planted to console at noon The penfive wand'rer in their shades. At eve The moon-beam fliding foftly in between The fleeping leaves, is all the light they wish, Birds warbling all the mufic. We can spare The fplendor of your lamps, they but eclipfe Our The thrush departs Our fofter fatellite. Your fongs confound A mutilated ftructure, foon to fall, |