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SONNET III. AFTER READING SHENSTONE'S ELEGIES. 1766.

The gentle Shenstone much of Fortune' plain'd,
Where Nature's hand the liberal spirit gave;
Partial, her bounty she too oft restrain'd,
But pour'd it full on Folly's tasteless slave.
By her alike my humble prayer disdain'd,
She stern denies the only boon I crave;
O'er my fields, fair as those Elysian feign'd,
To bid the green walk wind, the green wood wave.
On the high hill to raise the higher tower,
To ope wide prospects over distant plains,
Where by broad rivers towns and villas rise;
Taste prompts the wish, but Fortune bounds the power:
Yet while Health cheers, and Competence sustains,
These more than all, Contentment bids me prize.