 | Poems (1791) |  |
To my worthy Friend Mr. T. B one of the People called Quakers.
Written in his Garden July, 1752.
Free from the proud, the pompous, and the vain,
How simply neat, and elegantly plain
Thy rural villa lifts its modest head,
Where fair convenience reigns in fashion's stead;
Where sober plenty does its bliss impart,
And glads thine hospitable, honest heart.
Mirth without vice, and rapture without noise,
And all the decent, all the manly joys!
Beneath a shadowy bow'r, the summer's pride,
Thy darling Tullia sitting by thy side;
Where light and shade in varied scenes display
A contrast sweet, like friendly yea and nay.
My hand, the secretary of my mind,
Leaves thee these lines upon the poplar's rind.
| Poems (1791) | |