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And profligate abusers of a world

Created fair fo much in vain for them,

Should feek the guiltlefs joys that I describe,
Allur'd by my report: but fure no less,

That, felf-condemn'd, they must neglect the prize,
And what they will not taste, must yet approve.
What we admire we praise; and when we praise,
Advance it into notice, that its worth
Acknowledg'd, others may admire it too.
I therefore recommend, though at the risk
Of popular disgust, yet boldly still,
The caufe of piety and facred truth,

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And virtue, and thofe fcenes which God ordain'd
Should beft fecure them and promote them most ;
Scenes that I love, and with regret perceive
Forfaken, or through folly not enjoy'd.
Pure is the nymph, though lib'ral of her smiles,
And chaste, though unconfin'd, whom I extol.
Not as the prince in Shufhan, when he call'd,
Vain-glorious of her charms, his Vashti forth
To grace the full pavilion. His defign
Was but to boast his own peculiar good,
Which all might view with envy, none partake.
My charmer is not mine alone; my sweets,
And the that sweetens all my bitters too,

Nature,

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Nature, enchanting Nature, in whose form
And lineaments divine I trace a hand
That errs not, and find raptures still renew'd,
Is free to all men, univerfal prize.

Strange that fo fair a creature should yet want
Admirers, and be deftin'd to divide

With meaner objects, ev'n the few she finds!
Stripp'd of her ornaments, her leaves and flow'rs,
She lofes all her influence. Cities then
Attra&t us, and neglected Nature pines,
Abandon'd, as unworthy of our love.

But are not wholesome airs, though unperfum'd
By rofes; and clear funs, though scarcely felt,
And groves, if unharmonious, yet fecure
From clamour, and whofe very filence charms,
To be preferr❜d to smoke, to the eclipse

That Metropolitan volcanos make,

Whole Stygian throats breathe darkness all day long,

And to the ftir of commerce, driving flow,
And thund'ring loud, with his ten thoufand wheels ?
They would be, were not madness in the head,
And folly in the heart; were England now
What England was, plain, hofpitable, kind,
And undebauch'd. But we have bid farewel

To

ARGUMENT of the FOURTH Book.

The poft comes in. The news-paper is read.-The world contemplated at a distance.—Address to Winter. The rural amufements of a winter evening compared with the fashionable ones.- Addrefs to evening.- A brown ftudy.-Fall of snow in the evening.-The waggoner.-A poor family piece.—The rural thief.-Public houfes.-The multitude of them cenfured.-The farmer's daughter, what she was.What he is.-The fimplicity of country manners almoft loft.- Causes of the change. - Desertion of the country by the rich.- Neglect of magiftrates.-The militia principally in fault. -The new recruit and his tranformation.-Reflection on bodies corporate.-The love of rural objects natural to all, and never to be totally extinguifhed.

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HAR

ARK! 'tis the twanging horn! o'er yonder bridge,

That with its wearifome but needful length Beftrides the wintry flood, in which the moon Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright;

He comes, the herald of a noify world,

With fpatter'd boots, ftrapp'd waift, and frozen locks,

News from all nations lumb'ring at his back.
True to his charge, the close-pack'd load behind,
Yet careless what he brings, his one concern
Is to conduct it to the deftin'd inn,

And

And having dropp'd th' expected bag-pass on.
He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch,
Cold and yet chearful: messenger of grief
Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to fome,
To him indiff'rent whether grief or joy.
Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks,
Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet
With tears, that trickled down the writers' cheeks,
Fast as the periods from his fluent quill,

Or charg'd with am'rous fighs of absent swains,
Or nymphs refponfive, equally affect

His horfe and him, unconscious of them all.
But oh th' important budget! usher'd in
With fuch heart-shaking music, who can fay
What are its tidings? have our troops awak'd?
Or do they still, as if with opium drugg❜d,
Snore to the murmurs of th' Atlantic waye?
Is India free? and does she wear her plum'd
And jewell'd turban with a smile of peace,
Or do we grind her still? The grand debate,
The popular harangue, the tart reply,
The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit,
And the loud laugh-I long to know them all;
I burn to fet th' imprifon'd wranglers free,
And give them voice and utt'rance once again..

Now

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