 | Miscellanies in Prose and Verse |  |
225
A DESCRIPTION of a Manner of LIFE.
I pass the silent rural hour,
No slave to wealth, no tool to power.
My mansion's warm, and very neat;
You'd say, a pretty snug retreat.
My rooms no costly paintings grace,
The humbler print supplies their place.
Behind the house my garden lies,
And opens to the southern skies:
The distant hills gay prospects yield,
And plenty smiles in ev'ry field.
No slave to wealth, no tool to power.
My mansion's warm, and very neat;
You'd say, a pretty snug retreat.
My rooms no costly paintings grace,
The humbler print supplies their place.
Behind the house my garden lies,
And opens to the southern skies:
The distant hills gay prospects yield,
And plenty smiles in ev'ry field.
226
The faithful mastiff is my guard;
The feather'd tribes adorn my yard,
Alive my joy, my treat when dead,
And their soft plumes improve my bed.
The feather'd tribes adorn my yard,
Alive my joy, my treat when dead,
And their soft plumes improve my bed.
My cow rewards me all she can,
(Brutes leave ingratitude to man);
She daily thankful to her lord,
Crowns with nectareous sweets my board.
Am I diseas'd? the cure is known,
Her sweeter juices mend my own.
(Brutes leave ingratitude to man);
She daily thankful to her lord,
Crowns with nectareous sweets my board.
Am I diseas'd? the cure is known,
Her sweeter juices mend my own.
I love my house, and seldom roam,
Few visits please me more than home.
I pity that unhappy elf
Who loves all company but self,
By idle passions borne away
To op'ra, masquerade, or play,
Fond of those hives where Folly reigns,
And Britain's peers receive her chains.
Few visits please me more than home.
I pity that unhappy elf
Who loves all company but self,
By idle passions borne away
To op'ra, masquerade, or play,
Fond of those hives where Folly reigns,
And Britain's peers receive her chains.
Do not arraign my want of taste,
Or sight to ken where joys are plac'd.
They widely err who think me blind,
And I disclaim a stoic's mind.
Like your's are my sensations quite,
I only strive to feel aright.
My joys, like streams, glide gently by,
Tho' small their channel, never dry;
Keep a still, even, fruitful wave,
And bless the neighb'ring meads they leave.
Or sight to ken where joys are plac'd.
227
And I disclaim a stoic's mind.
Like your's are my sensations quite,
I only strive to feel aright.
My joys, like streams, glide gently by,
Tho' small their channel, never dry;
Keep a still, even, fruitful wave,
And bless the neighb'ring meads they leave.
My fortune (for I'll mention all,
And more than you dare tell) is small;
Yet every friend partakes my store,
And want goes smiling from my door.
Will forty shillings warm the breast
Of worth, or industry distress'd;
This sum I chearfully impart,
'Tis fourscore pleasures to my heart;
And you may make, by means like these,
Five talents ten, whene'er you please.
And more than you dare tell) is small;
Yet every friend partakes my store,
And want goes smiling from my door.
Will forty shillings warm the breast
Of worth, or industry distress'd;
This sum I chearfully impart,
'Tis fourscore pleasures to my heart;
And you may make, by means like these,
Five talents ten, whene'er you please.
| Miscellanies in Prose and Verse | |