are many things in it, of which he can still say, scripsisse pudet. But not having the most distant expectation, when he first wrote, that the pages which he penned were to be so generally read, and afterwards acknowledged, he was inattentive in drawing them up. The Poem indeed. was committed to the hands of the printer long before it was finished, and had possibly been extended to a much greater length, had not the compositor overtaken the writer, and called for more materials before they were ready. It was this which occa sioned the abruptness of the conclusion, and the hasty dismissal of the remaining Poets, whom it was the Author's intention to have pictured severally, but for this interruption. THE VILLAGE CURATE. Or Man's first disobedience, and the fruit Mild Autumn with her wain and wheaten sheaf, Let nobler poets sing. Sit thou apart, And on thine own Parnassus sweep the lyre, Applauded Hayley, by the muses taught, The bold, the various energetic chord, Secure and happy in thy fair retreat. Be mine the task to sing the man content, The VILLAGE CURATE. From no foreign shore On angry seas to please a poet's gods, At length scarce reach'd the hospitable port. In yonder mansion, rear'd by rustic hands, And deck'd with no superfluous ornament, Where use was all the architect propos'd, And all the master wish'd, which, scarce a mile Turns its warm aspect, yet with blossoms hung Half way between the summit and a brook That winds along below. Beyond the brook, Expects a nobler harvest, or high poles Mark the retreat of the scarce-budded hop, Hereafter to be eminently fair, And hide the naked staff that train'd him up With golden flow'rs. On the hill-top behold The Pastor's care. For he, ye whipping clerks, And starve the flock he undertakes to feed. Nor does he envy your ignoble ease, Ye pamper'd Priests, who only eat and sleep, And sleep and eat, and quaff the tawny juice Of vet'ran port: sleep on, and take your rest, Nor quit the downy couch preferment strews To aid your master. While Alcanor lives, Though Providence no greater meed design To crown his labour, than the scanty sum One cure affords, yet shall he not regret That he renounc'd a life so little worth |