University of Virginia Library

A Fragment

Blest is the Man who's free from publick Cares;
Who no Man envies, and who no Man fears,
Whose Heart, a Stranger to the Ways of Sin,
Gives him true Joy, true Happiness within.
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With his own Hands he ploughs that native Field,
His Father, Grandsire, and their Grandsires till'd.
Under those Oaks they found a cool Retreat
When spent with Labour in the Midday Heat,
He throws Him down: The Rooks, whose Sires before
Lull'd his Forefathers with their cawing Lore,
On him like Tribute gratefully bestow.
Tis all they have to give, tis all the Rent they owe.
Though small his Income, though his Household great,
The Poor unpitty'd never leave his Gate.
To them a Little of his Little's given.
Did I say, given? no; that is lent to Heaven.
On Sundays seated in his wicker Chair,
His Wife, his Children, Friends and Neighbours near,
He from the sacred Text a Chapter reads,
Comments, explains each verse as he proceeds:
Not to corrupt, but to apply the Word,
Not make his Hearers Casuists, but good.
When in the Markett with his Team he stands,
The Rich, the Great will take him by the Hand.
Though he no Pensions grants, no Bribes bestows,
Virtue will meet Respect where'evr She goes.
Among his Neighbours if Disputes arise,
The injur'd Party straight to him applys.
He hears both Sides, determines soon the Cause;
For He has Sense, though unskill'd in the Laws.
And Who has Sense with Honesty combin'd,
Him make thy Judge, if such one Thou canst find.
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When Death prepares his Being here to end,
Celestial Angels round his Couch attend;
Who wait impatient till the Stroke be given,
Eager to waft his honest Soul to Heaven.
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