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Ruffet lawns, and fallows gray,
Where the nibbling flocks do ftray;
Mountains, on whose barren breast
The labouring clouds do often reft ;
Meadows trim, with daifies pied;
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide.
Towers and battlements it fees
Bofom'd high in tufted traes,
Where, perhaps, fome beauty lies,
The Cynofure of neighbouring eyes..
Hard by a cottage chimney fmokes,
From betwixt two aged oaks,
Where Corydon and Thyrfis met,
Are at their favoury dinner fet
Of herbs, and other country meffes,
Which the neat-handed Phyllis dreffes ;
And then, in hafte her bower she leaves,
With Theftylis to bind his fheaves;
Or, if the earlier feafon lead,

To the tann'd hay-cock in the mead.
Tow'red cities please us then,
And the bufy hum of men,

Where throngs of knights and barons bold,
In weeds of peace high triumphs hold;
With ftore of ladies, whofe bright eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prize
Of wit or arms, while both contend
To win her grace, whom all commend...
There let Hymen oft appear
In faffron-robe, with taper clear,
And pomp, and feaft, and revelry,
With mask, and antique pageantry;
Such fights as youthful poets dream
On fummer eve by haunted ftream.
Then to the well trod ftage anon,
If Jolinfon's learned fock be on,
Or fweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild.
And ever, against eating cares,
Lap me in foft Lydian airs,
Married to immortal verse,
Such as the meeting foul may pierce,

In notes with many a winding bout
Of linked fweetnefs long drawn out,
With wanton heed and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes running;
Untwisting all the chains that tie

The hidden foul of Harmony:
That Orpheus' felf may heave his head
From golden flumber on a bed
Of heap'd Elyfian flowers, and hear
Such ftrains as would have won the ear
Of Pluto, to have quite set free
His half-regain'd Eurydice..

Thefe delights, if thou canft give,
Mirth, with thee I mean to live.

III. On the Pursuits of Mankind.

HONOUR and fhame from no condition rise::

Act well your part; there all the honour lies.
Fortune, in men, has fome fmall difference made;
One flaunts in rags; one flutters in brocade;
The cobler apron'd, and the parfon gown'd;
The friar hooded, and the monarch crown'd.
"What differ more," you cry, "than crown and cowl?"
I'll tell you friend-
-a wife man and a fool.

You'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk,
Or, cobler-like, the parfon will be drunk,
Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow
The reft is all but leather or prunella.

Boaft the pure blood of an illustrious race,

In quiet flow from Lucrece to Lucrece :
But, by your father's worth if yours you rate,
Count me thofe only, who were good and great..
Go! if your ancient, but ignoble blood,

Has crept through fcoundrels ever face the flood;
Go! and pretend your family is young;
Nor own your fathers have been fools fo long.
What can ennoble fots, or flaves, or cowards?
Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards.

Look next on greatnefs: fay where greatness lies.
"Where, but among the heroes and the wife?"
Heroes are much the fame, the point's agreed,
From Macedonia's madman to the Swede:

The

The whole ftrange purpofe of their lives, to find
Or make-an eneiny of all mankind ! .
Not one looks backward; onward ftill he goes :
Yet ne'er looks forward-further than his nofe.
No lefs alike the politic and wife :

All fly flow things, with circumfpective eyes.
Men in their loofe unguarded hours they take:
Not that themselves are wife, but others weak.
But, grant that thofe can conquer; these can cheat:
'Tis phrafe abfurd, to call a villain great.
Who wickedly is wife, or madly brave,
Is but the more a fool, the more a knavé.
Who noble ends by noble means obrains,
Or, failing, fmiles in exile or in chains;
Like good Aurelius let him reign, or bleed.
Like Socrates-that man is great indeed.

What's fame?-a fancy'd life in others breath:
A thing beyond us, ev'n before our death.
All fame is foreign, but of true defert ;

Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart: :
One felf-approving hour whole years out-weighs
Of stupid ftarers, and of loud huzzas :
And more true joy, Marcellus, exil'd, feels,
Than Cæfar, with a fenate at his heels.

In parts fuperiour what advantage lies?
Tell (for you can) what is it to be wife?
"Tis but to know how little can be known; -
To fee all others' faults, and feel our own;
Condem'd in bus'nefs, or in arts, to drudge
Without a fecond, or without a judge.
Truths would you teach, or fave a finking land ? :
All fear, none aid you, and few understand.
Painful pre-eminence! yourfelf to view..
Above life's weakness, and its comforts too.

Bring, then, these bleffings to a strict account
Make fair deductions; fee to what they mount:
How much, of other, each is fure to coft;
How each, for other, oft is wholly loft;
How inconfiftent greater goods with thefe;
How fometimes life is rifk'd, and always eafe:
Think. And, if ftill fuch things thy envy call,
Say, would't thou be the man to whom they fall? /

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To figh for ribbands, if thou art fo filly,
Mark how they grace Lord Umbra or Sir Billy.
Is yellow dirt the paffion of thy life?
Look but on Gripus, or on Gripus' wife.
If parts allure thee, think how Bacon fhin'd;
The wifeft, brightest-meaneft of mankind.
Or, ravish'd with the whistling of a name,
See Cromwell damn'd to everlasting fame.
If all united thy ambition call,

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From ancient story-learn to fcorn them all.

IV. Adam and Eve's Morning-hymn.

THESE are thy glorious works! Parent of good!
Almighty thine this univerfal frame,

Thus wond'rous fair: Thyfelf how wond'rous, then,
Unfpeakable! who fit'ft above thefe heavens,
To us invifible, or dimly feen

In these thy lowest works: yet thefe declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and pow'r divine.-
Speak, ye who beft can tell, ye fons of light,
Angels for ye beheld him, and, with fongs
And choral fymphonies, day without night,
Circle his throne rejoicing. Ye in heaven!
On earth, join, all ye creatures, to extol...
Him firft, him laft, him midft, and without end.
Faireft of stars! laft in the train of night,
If better thou belong not to the dawn,

Sure pledge of day, that crown't the fmiling morn
With thy bright circlet, praife him in thy fphere,
While day arifes, that fweet hour of prime.
Thou, Sun! of this great world both eye and foul,
Acknowledge him thy greater: found his praife
In thy eternal courfe, both when thou climb'st,
And when high noon haft gain'd, and when thou fall'ft
Moon! that now meet'ft the orient fun, now fly'st,
With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies;
And ye five other wand'ring fires! that move
In myftic dance, not without fong; refound
His praife, who out of darkness call'd up light.
Air, and ye elements ! the eldest birth
Of Nature's womb, that, in quaternion, run
Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix.

And

And nourish all things, let your ceafelefs change
Vary to our great Maker still new praise.
Ye mifts and exhalations! that now rife
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray
Till the fun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honour to the world's great Author rife;
Whether to deek with clouds th' uncolour'd sky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling show'rs,
Rifing or falling, ftill advance his praife.

His praise, ye winds! that from four quarters blow,
Breathe foft or loud and wave your tops, ye pines
With every plant, in fign of worship, wave.
Fountains and ye that warble, as ye flow,
Melodious murmurs, warbling, tune his praife.
Join voices, all ye living fouls. Ye birds,
That, finging, up to heaven-gate afcend,
Bear on your wings, and in your notes, his praife.
Ye that in waters glide! and ye that walk
The earth, and ftately tread or lowly creep!
Witness if I be filent, morn or even,
To hill or valley, fountain or fresh fhade,
Made vocal by ny fong, and taught his praife.
Hail, univerfal Lord! Be bounteous ftill,
To give us only good; and, if the night
Have gather'd ought of evil, or conceal'd
Disperse it, as now light difpels the dark.

V. Parting of Hector and Andromache.

HECTOR now pafs'd, with fad prefaging heart,
To feek his fpouse, his foul's far dearer part.
At home he fought her; but he fought in vain :
She, with one maid of all her menial train,
Had thence retir'd; and, with her fecond joy,
The young Aftyanax, the hope of Troy,
Penfive fhe ftood on Ilion's tow'ry height,
Beheld the war, and ficken'd at the fight:
There her fad eyes in vain her lord explore,
Or weep the wounds-her bleeding country bore.
Hector this heard, return'd without delay;
Swift through the town, he took his former way,
Through streets of palaces and walks of state,
And met the mourner at the Scæan gate.

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