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She needs herself correction; needs to learn,
That it is dangerous sporting with the world,
With things so sacred as a nation's trust,
The nurture of her youth, ber dearest pledge.

All are not such. I had a brother once-
Peace to the memory of a man of worth,
A man of letters, and of manners too!
Of manners sweet as Virtue always wears,
When gay Good-nature dresses her in smiles.
He graced a college, in which order yet
Was sacred, and was honour'd, loved, and wept,
By more than one, themselves conspicuous there.
Some minds are temper'd happily, and mix'd
With such ingredients of good sense, and taste
Of what is excellent in man; they thirst
With such a zeal to be what they approve,
That no restraints can circumscribe them more
Than they themselves by choice, for wisdom's sake.
Nor can example hurt them: what they see
Of vice in others but enhancing more
The charms of virtue in their just esteem.
If such escape contagion, and emerge
Pure from so foul a pool to shine abroad,
And give the world their talents and themselves,
Small thanks to those whose negligence or sloth
Exposed their inexperience to the snare,
And left them to an undirected choice.

See then the quiver broken and decay'd, In which are kept our arrows! Rusting there In wild disorder, and unfit for use, What wonder if, discharged into the world, They shame their shooters with a random flight, Their prints obtuse, and feathers drunk with wine! Well may the church wage unsuccessful war With such artillery arm d. Vice parries wide The undreaded volley with a sword of straw, And stands an impudent and fearless mark,

Have we not track'd the felon home, and found His birth-place an, his damn? The country mourns Mourns because every plague, that can infest Society, and that saps and worms the base

• Benet Coll. Cambridge.

of the edifice, that Policy has raised,
Swarms in all quarters : meets the eye, the ear,
And guffocates the breath at every turn.
Profusion breeds them; and the cause itself
Of that calamitous mischief has been found
Found too, where most offensive, in the skirts
Of the robed pedagogue! Else let the arraign'd
Stand up unconscious, and refute the charge.
So when the Jewish leader stretch'd his arm
And waved his rod divine, a race obscene,
Spawn'd in the muddy beds of Nile, came forth,
Polluting Egypt: gardens, fields, and plains
Were cover'd with the pest; the streets were fill'd;
The croaking nuisance lurk'd in every nook;
Nor palaces, nor even chambers, 'scaped :
And the land stank-so numerous was the fry

BOOK III. Self-recollection and reproof.--Address to domestic happiness.

Some account of myselí.-The vanity of many of their pursuits who are reputed wise. - Justification of my censures.-Divine llumination necessary to the most experi philosopher.--The question, What is truth? answered by other questions.-Domestic happiness addressed again.--Pew lovers of the country, -My tame dare --Orcupations of a retired gentleman in his garden. -Pruning.--Framing.--Green-house. -Sowing of flower secus. - The country preferible to the town even in winter.Reasons why it is deserted at that season.-Ruinous effects of gaming, and of expensive improvement.-Book concludes with an apostrophe to the metropolis.

THE GARDEN. As one, who long in thickets and in brakes Entangled, winds now this way and now that His devious course uncertain, seeking home; Or having long in miry ways been foil'd And sore discomfited, from slough to slough Plunging, and half despairing of escape ; If chance at length he find a greensward smooth And faithful to the foot, his spirits rise, He cherups brisk his ear-erecting steed, And winds his way with pleasure and with eaoo. So I, designing other themes, and call'd

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T, adorn the Sofa with eulogium due,
To tell its slumbers, and to paint its dreams,
Have rambled wide : in country, city, seat
Of academic fame (howe'er deserved),
Long held, and scarcely disengaged at last.
But now with pleasant pace a cleanlier road
I mean to tread: I feel myself at large,
Courageous, and refresh'd for future toil,
If toil await me, or if dangers new.

Since pulpits fail, and sounding boards reflect
Most part an empty, ineffectual sound,
What chance that I, to fame so little known,
Nor conversant with men or manners much,
Should speak to purpose, or with better hope
Crack the satiric thong? 'Twere wiser far
Por me, enamour'd of seqnester'd scenes,
And charm'd with rural beauty, to repose,
Where chance may throw me, beneath elm or vino
My languid limbs, when, summer sears the plains
Or when rough winter rages, on the soft
And shelter'd sofa, while the nitrous air
Feeds a blue flame, and makes a cheerful hearth ;
There undisturb’d by Folly, and apprized
How great the danger of disturbing her,
To muse in silence, or, at least, confine
Remarks, that gall so many, to the few
My partners in retreat. Disgust conceal'd
Is oft-times proof of wisdom, when the fault
Is obstinate, and cure beyond our reach.

Domestic Happiness, thou only bliss
Of paradise, that hast survived the fall!
Though few now taste thee unimpair'd and pure,
Or tasting long enjoy thee! too infirm,
Or too incautious, to preserve thy sweets
Unmix'd with drops of bitter, which neglect,
Or temper, sheds into thy crystal cup;
Thou art the nurse of Virtue, in thine arms
Sbe smiles, appearing, as in truth she is,
Heaven-born, and destined to the skies again.
Thou art not known where Pleasure is adored,
That reeling goddess with the zoneless waist
And wandering eyes, still leaning on the arm

Or Novelty, her fickle, frail support; For thou art week and constant, nating change, And finding in the calm of truth-tried love Joys that her stormy raptures never yield. Forsaking thee wh shipwreck have we made Of honour, dignity, and fair renown! Till prostitution elbows us aside In all our crowded streets; and senates seem Convened for purposes of empire less, Than to release the adult'ress from her tond. The adult'ress! what a theme for angry verse! What provocation to the indignant heart, That feels for injured love! but I disdain The nauseous task to paint her as she is, Cruel, abandon'd, glorying in her shame! No! let her pass, and charioted along In guilty splendour, shake the public ways; The frequency of crimes has wash'd them white, And verse of mine shall never brand the wretch, Whom matrons now of character unsmirch'd, And chaste themselves, are not ashamed to own. Virtue and vice had boundaries in old time, Not to be pass'd : and she, that had renounced Her sex's honour, was renounced herself By all that prized it; not for prudery's sake, But dignity's, resentful of the wrong. 'Twas hard perhaps on here and there a waif, Demirous to return, and not received: Bar 'twas a wholesome rigour in the main, And taught the unblemish'd to preserve with care That purity, whose loss was loss of all. Men too were nice in honour in those days, And judged offenders well. Then he that sharp'd, And pocketed a prize by fraud obtain'd, Was mark'd and shunn'd as odious. He that sold His country, or was slack when she required His every nerve in action and at stretch, Paid with the blood that he had basely spared, The price of his default. But now-yes, now We are become so candid and so fair, So liberal in construction, and so rich In Christian chari:y. (good-natured age !)

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That they are safe, sinners of either sex,
Transgress what laws they may. Well dressed, well
Well equipaged, is ticket good enough (bred
To pass us readily through every door.
li ypocrisy, detest her as we may
(And no man's hatred ever wrong'd her yet),
Nay claim this merit still--that she admits
The worth of what she mimics with such care,
And thus gives virtue indirect applause ;
But she has burnt her mask, not needed here,
Where vice has such allowance, that her shifts
And specious semblances have lost their use.

I was a stricken deer, that left the herd
Long since. With many an arrow deep infix'a
My panting side was charged, when I withdrew
To seek a tranquil death in distant shades.
There was I found by one who had himself
Been hurt by the archers. In his side he bore,
And in his hands and feet, the cruel scars.
With gentle force soliciting the darts,
ile drew them forth, and heal'd, and bade me live
Since then, with few associates, in remote
And silent woods I wander, far from those
My former partners of the peopled scene;
With few associates, and not wishing more.
Here much I ruminate, as much I may,
With other views of men and manners now
Than once, and others of a life to come.
I see that all are wanderers, gone astray
Each in his own delusions; they are lost
In chase of fancied happiness, still woo'd
And never won. Dream after dream ensues ;
And still they dream that they shall still succeed,
And still are disappointed. Rings the world
With the vain stir. I sum up half mankind,
And add two thirds of the remaining half,
And find the total of their hopes and fears
Dreams, empty dreams. The million flit as gay
As if created only like the fly,
That spreads his motley wings in the eye of noon,
To sport their season, and be seen no more.
The rest are sober dreamers, grave and wise,

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