Know God---and bring thy heart to know
The joys which from religion flow:
Then ev'ry grace fhall prove its guest,
And I'll be there to crown the rest..
Oh! by yonder moffy feat,
In my hours of sweet retreat;:
Might I thus my foul employ,
With fense of gratitude and joy;
Rais'd as ancient prophets were
In heav'nly vision, praise and prayer :
Pleafing all men, hurting none,
Pleas'd and bleft with God alone::
Then while the gardens take my fight,
With all the colours of delight;
While filver waters glide along,
To please my ear, and court my fong,
I'll lift my voice and tune my string,
And Thee, great Source of nature, fing.
The fun that walks his airy way,
To light the world, and give the day;
The moon that shines with borrow'd light;
The stars that gild the gloomy night;
The feas that roll unnumber'd waves;
The wood that spreads its shady leaves;.
The field whose ears conceal the grain,
The yellow treasure of the plain;
All of these, and all I fee,
Should be fung, and fung by mes
They fpeak their maker as they can,
But want and ask the tongue of man.
Go fearch among your idle dreams
Your bufy or your vain extremes,
And find a life of equal blifs,
Or own the next begun in this.
Vos fapere et folos aio bene vivere, quorum,
Confpicitur nitidis fundata pecunia villis,
THE wealthy Cit, grown old in trade,
Now wishes for the rural shade,
And buckles to his one-horse chair
Old Dobbin, or the founder'd mare;
While wedg'd in closely by his fide
Sits Madam, his unwieldy bride,
With Jacky on a stool before 'em,
And out they jog in due decorum.
Scarce past the turnpike half a mile,
How all the country seems to smile!
And as they flowly jog together,
The Cit commends the road and weather;
While Madam doats upon the trees,
And longs for ev'ry house the fees,
Admires its views, its fituation,
And thus fhe opens her oration.
What fignify the loads of wealth,
Without that richest jewel, health?
Excufe the fondness of a wife,
Who doats upon your precious life!
Such eafelefs toil, fuch conftant care,
Is more than human strength can bear;
One may obferve it in your face---
Indeed, my dear, you break apace:
And nothing can your health repair,
But exercife, and country air.
Sir Traffic has a house, you know,
About a mile from Cheney-row:
He's a good man, indeed 'tis true,
But not fo warm, my dear, as you :
And folks are always apt to fneer----
One would not be out-done, my dear!
Sir Traffic's name fo well apply'd
Awak'd his brother merchant's pride;
And Thrifty, who had all his life
Paid utmost deference to his wife,
Confefs'd her arguments had reason,
And by th' approaching summer seafon,
Draws a few hundreds from the stocks,
And purchases his Country-Box.
Some three or four miles out of town, (An hour's ride will bring you down,)
He fixes on his choice abode,
Not half a furlong from the road:
And fo convenient does it lay,
The stages pafs it ev'ry day:
And then fo fnug, fo mighty pretty,
To have an house so near the city!
Take but your places at the Boar,
You're fet down at the very door.
Well then, fuppose them fix'd at last,
White-washing, painting, scrubbing past,.
Hugging themselves in eafe and clover,
With all the fuss of moving over;
Lo, a new heap of whims are bred !
And wanton in my lady's head.
Well to be fure, it must be own'd,
It is a charming spot of ground;
So fweet a distance for a ride,
And all about fo countrified !
"Twould come to but a trifling price
To make it quite a paradife;
I cannot bear thofe nafty rails,
Those ugly broken mouldy pales:
Suppofe, my dear, instead of these,
We build a railing, all Chinese,
Although one hates to be expos'd,.
"Tis difmal to be thus inclos'd;.
One hardly any object fees---
I wish you'd fell thofe odious trees.
Objects continual paffing by
Were fomething to amufe the eye.
But to be pent within the walls---
One might as well be at St. Paul's.
Our house beholders would adore,
Was there a level lawn before;
Nothing its views to incommode,
But quite laid open to the road!
While every trav'ller in amaze,
Should on our little manfion gaze,
And, pointing to the choice retreat,
Cry, that's Sir Thrifty's country-feat.
No doubt her arguments prevail,
For Madam's tafte can never fail.
Bleft age! when all men may procure
The title of a connoiffeur;
When noble and ignoble herd
Are govern'd by a single word;
Though, like the royal German dames,
It bears an hundred chriftian names;
As Genius, Fancy, Judgment, Gout,
Whim, Caprice, Je ne fcai quoi, Virtu:
Which appellations all describe
Taste and the modern tafteful tribe.
Now bricklay'rs, carpenters, and joiners, With Chinese artists, and defigners,
|