Sidor som bilder

Stand up unconscious, and refute the charge.

So when the Jewish Leader ftretch'd his arm,
And wav'd his rod divine, a race obfcene,

Spawn'd in the muddy beds of Nile, came forth,
Polluting Ægypt. Gardens, fields, and plains
Were cover'd with the pest. The streets were fill'd;
The croaking nuisance lurk'd in ev'ry nook,
Nor palaces nor even chambers 'fcap'd,

And the land ftank, fo num'rous was the fry.


T A S K.

воок III.


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Self-recollection and reproof.—Addrefs to domeftic happinefs. Some account of myself.-The vanity of many of their purfuits who are reputed wife.—Juftification of my cenfures.-Divine illumination necessary to the moft expert philofopher.-The question, What is truth? anfwered by other questions. Domestic happiness addreffed again.-Few lovers of the country.—My tame bare.-Occupations of a retired gentleman in his garden.-Pruning.-Framing.-Greenhouse.-Sowing of flower-feeds.-The country preferable to the town even in the winter. Reafons why it is deferted at that feafon.-Ruinous effects of gaming and of expenfive improvement. Book concludes with an apostrophe to the metropolis.

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As one who, long in thickets and in brakes
Entangled, winds now this way and now that
His devious courfe uncertain, seeking home;
Or having long in miry ways been foil'd
And fore discomfited, from flough to flough
Plunging, and half despairing of escape,

If chance at length he find a green-fward smooth
And faithful to the foot, his spirits rise,

He chirrups brisk his ear-erecting steed,

And winds his way with pleasure and with ease;
So I, defigning other themes, and call'd

T' adorn

T'adorn the Sofa with eulogium due,

To tell its flumbers and to paint its dreams,
Have rambled wide. In country, city, feat
Of academic fame (howe'er deferv'd)
Long held, and scarcely difengag'd 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 founding-boards reflect
Moft part an empty ineffectual found,
What chance that I, to fame fo little known,
Nor converfant with men or manners much,
Should speak to purpose, or with better hope
Crack the fatiric thong? 'twere wiser far
For me, enamour'd of fequefter'd scenes,

And charm'd with rural beauty, to repose

Where chance may throw me, beneath elm or vine,

My languid limbs when fummer fears the plains,


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