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For all the favage din of the swift pack,
And clamours of the field? detested sport,
With eloquence that agonies infpire
Of cruel man, exulting in her woes.
Innocent partner of my peaceful home,
Whom ten long years experience of my care
Not needful here, beneath a roof like mine.
Yes-thou may'st eat thy bread, and lick the hand
That feeds thee; thou may'ft frolic on the floor
At evening, and at night retire secure
To thy ftraw couch, and flumber unalarm'd;
I knew at least one hare that had a friend.
How various his employments, whom the world Calls idle, and who juftly, in return,
Efteems that busy world an idler too!
Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen,
And nature in her cultivated trim
Drefs'd to his tafte, inviting him abroad-
Is but a loan to be repaid with use,
When He shall call his debtors to account,
From whom are all our bleffings, bus'nefs finds
To its just point, the fervice of mankind.
That has a heart and keeps it; has a mind
Has business; feels himself engag'd t' achieve
A life all turbulence and noise, may seem,
Or dives not for it, or brings up instead,
The morning finds the felf-fequefter'd man Fresh for his task, intend what task he may. Whether inclement feafons recommend
His warm but fimple home, where he enjoys, With her who shares his pleafures and his heart, Sweet converfe, fipping calm the fragrant lymph Which neatly fhe prepares; then to his book Well chofen, and not fullenly perus'd
In felfish filence, but imparted oft
As aught occurs that she may smile to hear,
Or if the garden with its many cares,
All well repay'd, demand him, he attends
The welcome call, conscious how much the hand
Of lubbard labor needs his watchful eye,
Oft loit'ring lazily, if not o'erseen,
Or mifapplying his unfkilful strength.
Nor does he govern only or direct,
But much performs himself. No works indeed
With pleasure more than ev'n their fruits afford,
No meaner hand may discipline the shoots,
None but his steel approach them. What is weak, Diftemper'd, or has loft prolific pow'rs,
Impair'd by age, his unrelenting hand
Dooms to the knife:.nor does he spare the soft
Bút barren, at th' expence of neighb'ring twigs