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pleasures, but as parts of house-keeping), and the domestical conservation and uses of all that is brought in by industry abroad. The business of these professors should not be, as is commonly practised in other arts, only to read pompous and superficial lectures, out of Virgil's Georgics, Pliny, Varro, or Columella; but to instruct their pupils in the whole method and course of this study, which might be run through perhaps with diligence in a year or two; and the continual succession of scholars, upon a moderate taxation for their diet, lodging, and learning, would be a sufficient constant revenue for maintenance of the house and the professors, who should be men not chosen for the ostentation of critical literature, but for solid and experimental knowledge of the things they teach; such men, so industrious and public-spirited, as I conceive Mr. Hartlib to be, if the gentleman be yet alive: but it is needless to speak further of my thoughts of this design, unless the present disposition of the age allowed more probability of bringing it into execution. What I have further to say of the country life, shall be borrowed from the poets, who were always the most faithful and affectionate friends to it. Poetry was born among the shepherds.

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extant (if Homer, as some think, preceded him, but I rather believe they were contemporaries); and he is the first writer too of the art of husbandry: "he has contributed (says Columella) not a little to our profession;" I suppose, he means not a little honour, for the matter of his instructions is not very important; his great antiquity is visible through the gravity and simplicity of his stile. The most acute of all his sayings concerns our purpose very much, and is couched in the reverend obscurity of an oracle IIλor hulov ales, The half is more than the whole. The occasion of the speech is this; his brother Perseus had, by corrupting some great men, (Baotias dogopayus, great bribe-eaters he calls them) gotten from him the half of his estate. It is no matter (says he); they have not done me so much prejudice as they imagine! Νήπιοι, εδ' ίσασιν, κ. τ. λ.

Unhappy they, to whom God has not reveal'd, By a strong light which must their sense controle,

That half a great estate's more than the whole : Unhappy, from whom still conceal'd does lie Of roots and herbs the wholesome luxury.

This I conceive to have been honest Hesiod's meaning. From Homer we must not expect much concerning our affairs. He was blind, and could neither work in the country, nor enjoy the pleasures of it; his helpless poverty was likeliest to be sustained in the richest places; he was to delight the Grecians with fine tales of the wars, and adventures of their ancestors; his subject removed him from all commerce with us, and yet, methinks, he made a shift to show his goodwill a little. For, though he could do us no honour in the person of his hero Ulysses (much less of Achilles), because his whole time was consumed in wars and voyages; yet he makes his father Laertes a gardener all that while, and seeking his consolation for the absence of his son in the pleasure of planting and even dunging his own grounds. Ye see he did not contemn us peasants; nay, so far was he from that insolence, that he always styles Eumæus, who kept the hogs, with wonderful respect, v içógov, the divine swineherd: he could have done no more for Menelaus or Agamemnon. And Theocritus (a very ancient poet, but he was one of our own tribe, for he wrote nothing but pastorals) gave the same epithet to an husbandman,

ἀμείβειο δῖος ἀγρώτης 9,

the divine husbandman replied to Hercules, who was but to himself. These were civil Greeks, and who understood the dignity of our calling; Among the Romans we have, in the first place, our truly-divine Virgil, who, though by the favour of Mæcenas and Augustus he might have been one of the chief men of Rome, yet chose rather to employ much of his time in the exercise, and much of his immortal wit in the praise and instructions, of a rustic life; who, though he

Idyll. xxv. ver. 51.

had written before whole books of pastorals and georgics, could not abstain in his great and imperial poem from describing Evander, one of his best princes, as living just after the homely manner of an ordinary countryman. He seats him in a throne of maple, and lays bim but upon a bear's-skin; the kine and oxen ate lowing in his court-yard; the birds under the eves of his window call him up in the morning; and when he goes abroad, only two dogs go along with him for his guard at last, when he brings Eneas into his royal cottage, he makes him say this memorable compliment, greater than ever yet was spoken at the Escurial, the Louvre, or our Whitehall:

Hæc (inquit) limina victor
Alcides subiit, hæc illum regia cepit:
Aude, hospes, contemnere opes: & te quoque
dignum

Finge Deo rcbúsque veni non asper egenis 1.

This humble roof, this rustic court (said he)
Receiv'd Alcides, crown'd with victory :
Scorn not, great guest, the steps where he has trod;
But contemn wealth, and imitate a god.

The next man, whom we are much obliged to, both for his doctrine and example, is the next best poet in the world to Virgil, his dear friend Horace; who, when Augustus had desired Mæcenas to persuade him to come and live domestically and at the same table with him, and to be secretary of state of the whole world under him, or rather jointly with him, for he says, ut nos in epistolis scribendis adjuvet, could not be tempted to forsake his Sabin, or Tiburtin manor, for so rich and so glorious a trouble. There was never, I think, such an example as this in the world, that he should have so much moderation and courage as to refuse an offer of such greatness, and the emperor so much generosity and goodnature as not to be at all offended with his refusal, but to retain still the same kindness, and express it often to him in most friendly and familiar letters, part of which are still extant. If I should produce all the passages of this excellent author upon the several subjects which I treat of in this book, I must be obliged to translate half his works; of which I may say more truly than in my opinion he did of Homer,

Qui, quid sit pulchrum, quid turpe, quid utile, quid non,

Planiùs & meliùs Chrysippo & Crantore dicit 2.

I shall content myself upon this particular theme with three only, one out of his Odes, the other out of his Satires, the third out of his Epistles; and shall forbear to collect the suffrages of all other poets, which may be found scattered up and down through all their writings, and especially in Martial's. But I must not omit to make some excuse for the bold undertaking of my own unskilful pencil upon the beauties of a face that has been drawn before by so many great masters; especially, that I should dare to do it in

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Latin verses (though of another kind), and have the confidence to translate them. I can only say, that I love the matter, and that ought to cover many faults; and that I run not to contend with those before me, but follow to applaud them.

A Translation out of VIRGIL.

Georg. Lib. II. 458.

On happy (if his happiness he knows)
The country swain, on whom kind Heaven bestows
At home all riches, that wise nature needs;
Whom the just earth with easy plenty feeds.
'Tis true, no morning tide of clients comes,
And fills the painted channels of his rooms,
Adoring the rich figures, as they pass,
In tapestry wrought, or cut in living brass;
Nor is his wool superfluously dy'd
With the dear poison of Assyrian pride:
Nor do Arabian perfumes vainly spoil
The native use and sweetness of his oil.
Instead of these, his calm and harmless life,
Free from th' alarms of fear, and storms of strife,
Does with substantial blessedness abound,
And the soft wings of Peace cover him round :
Through artless grots the murmuring waters glide;
Thick trees both against heat and cold provide,
From whence the birds salute him; and his ground
With lowing herds and bleating sheep does sound;
And all the rivers and the forests nigh,
Both food and game, and exercise, supply.
Here a well-harden'd, active youth we see,
Taught the great art of cheerful poverty.
Here, in this place alone, there still do shine
Some streaks of love, both human and divine;
From hence Astræa took her flight, and here
Still her last footsteps upon Earth appear.
'Tis true, the first desire, which does control
All the inferior wheels that move my soul,
Is, that the Muse me her high-priest would make,
Into her holiest scenes of mystery take,
And open there, to my mind's purged eye,
Those wonders, which to sense the gods deny:
How in the Moon such change of shapes is found,
The Moon, the changing world's eternal bound;
What shakes the solid Earth, what strong disease
Dares trouble the firm centre's ancient ease;
What makes the sea retreat, and what advance
(Varieties too regular for chance);"
What drives the chariot on of winter's light,
And stops the lazy waggon of the night.
But, if my dull and frozen blood deny
To send forth spirits, that raise a soul so high,
In the next place, let woods and rivers be
My quiet, though inglorious, destiny.
In life's cool vale let my low scene be laid;
Cover me, gods, with Tempe's thickest shade.
Happy the man, I grant, thrice happy, he,
Who can through gross effects their causes see:
Whose courage from the deeps of knowledge
springs,

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Nor vainly fears inevitable things;
But does his walk of virtue calmly go
Through all th' alarms of Death and Hell below.
Happy! but, next such conquerors, happy they,
Whose humble life lies not in fortune's way.

They unconcern'd, from their safe distant seat,
Behold the rods and sceptres of the great;
The quarrels of the mighty without fear,
And the descent of foreign troops, they hear;
Nor can ev'n Rome their steady course misguide,
With all the lustre of her perishing pride.
Them never yet did strife or avarice draw
Into the noisy markets of the law,

The camps of gowned war; nor do they live
By rules or forms, that many madmen give.
Duty for Nature's bounty they repay,
And her sole laws religiously obey.

[main,
Some with bold labour plough the faithless
Some rougher storms in prince's courts sustain :
Some swell up their slight sails with popular fame
Charm'd with the foolish whistlings of a name :
Some their vain wealth to earth again commit:
With endless cares some brooding o'er it sit :
Country and friends are by some wretches sold,
To lie on Tyrian beds, and drink in gold;"
No price too high for profit can be shown;
Not brother's blood, nor hazards of their own:
Around the world in search of it they roam,
It makes ev'n their antipodes their home;
Meanwhile, the prudent husbandman is found,
In mutual duties striving with his ground,
And half the year he care of that does take,
That half the year grateful returns does make.
Each fertile month does some new gifts present,
And with new work his industry content.

HOR. EPOD. ODE II.

HAPPY the man, whom bounteous gods allow
With his own hands paternal grounds to plough
Like the first golden mortals happy, he,
From business and the cares of money free!
No human storms break off at land his sleep;
No loud alarms of nature, on the deep:
From all the cheats of law he lives secure,
Nor does th' affronts of palaces endure.
Sometimes, the beauteous, marriageable vine
He to the lusty bridegroom elm does join :
Sometimes he lops the barren trees around,
And grafts new life into the fruitful wound;
Sometimes he shears his flock, and sometimes he
Stores up the golden treasures of the bee.
He sees his lowing herds walk o'er the plain,
Whilst neighbouring hills lowe back to them
again;

And, when the season, rich as well as gay,
All her autumnal bounty does display,
How is he pleas'd th' increasing use to see
Of his well-trusted labours bend the tree!
Of which large shares, on the glad sacred days,
He gives to friends, and to the gods repays.
With how much joy does he, beneath some shade
By aged trees' reverend embraces made,
His careless head on the fresh green recline,
His head uncharg'd with fear or with design.

This the young lamb, that the soft fleece, doth By him a river constantly complains,

yield;

This loads with hay, and that with corn, the field:
All sorts of fruit crown the rich autumn's pride:
And on a swelling hill's warm stony side,
The powerful princely purple of the vine,
Twice dy'd with the redoubled Sun, does shine.
In th' evening to a fair ensuing day,
With joy he sees his flocks and kids to play:
And loaded kine about his cottage stand,
Inviting with known sound the milker's hand;
And when from wholesome labour he doth come,
With wishes to be there, and wish'd-for home,
He meets at door the softest human blisses,
His chaste wife's welcome, and dear children's
kisses.

When any rural holidays invite

His genius forth to innocent delight,

On earth's fair bed, beneath some sacred shade,
Amidst his equal friends carelessly laid,
He sings thee, Bacchus, patron of the vine;
The beechen bowl foams with a flood of wine,
Not to the loss of reason, or of strength:
To active games and manly sport, at length,
Their mirth ascends, and with fill'd veins they see
Who can the best at better trials be.
From such the old Hetrurian virtue rose;
Such was the life the prudent Sabins chose;
Such, Remus, and the god his brother, led;
From such firm-footing Rome grew the world's
head.

Such was the life that, ev'n till now, does raise
The honour of poor Saturn's golden days:
Before men, born of earth, and buried there,
Let-in the sea their mortal fate to share:
Before new ways of perishing were sought;
Before unskilful death on anvils wrought;
Before those beasts, which human life sustain,
By men, unless to the gods use, were slain.

The birds above rejoice with various strains,
And in the solemn scene their orgies keep,
Like dreams, mix'd with the gravity of sleep!
Sleep, which does always there for entrance wait,
And nought within against it shuts the gate.

Nor does the roughest season of the sky,
Or sullen Jove, all sports to him deny.
He runs the mazes of the nimble hare,
His well-mouth'd dogs' glad concert rends the
Or with game bolder, and rewarded more, [air;
He drives into a toil the foaming boar;
Here flies the hawk t' assault, and there the net
To intercept, the travailing fowl, is set;
And all his malice, all his craft, is shown
In innocent wars on beasts and birds alone.
This is the life from al! misfortunes free,
From thee, the great one, tyrant Love, from
thee;

And, if a chaste and clean, though homely wife
Be added to the blessings of this life.-
Such as the ancient Sun-burnt Sabins were,
Such as Apulia, frugal still, does bear,—-
Who makes her children and the house her care,
And joyfully the work of life does share,
Nor thinks herself too noble or too fine
To pin the sheepfold or to milch the kine;
Who waits at door against her husband come
From rural duties, late and wearied, home,
Where she receives him with a kind embrace,
A cheerful fire, and a more cheerful face;
And fills the bowl up to her homely lord,
And with domestic plenty loads the board;
Not all the lustful shell-fish of the sea,
Dress'd by the wanton hand of Luxury,
Not ortolans, nor godwits, nor the rest
Of costly names that glorify a feast,
Are at the princely tables better cheer,
Than lamb and kid, lettuce and olives, here.

THE COUNTRY MOUSE.

A Paraphrase upon HORACE, Book II. Sat. vi.

Ar the largest foot of a fair hollow tree, Close to plough'd ground, seated commodiously, His ancient and hereditary house, There dwelt a good substantial country mouse; Frugal, and grave, and careful of the main, Yet one who once did nobly entertain A city mouse, well-coated, sleek, and gay, A mouse of high degree which lost his way, Wantonly walking forth to take the air, And arriv'd early, and belighted, there, For a day's lodging: the good hearty host (The ancient plenty of his hall to boast) Did all the stores produce, that might excite, With various tastes, the courtier's appetite. Fitches and beans, peason and oats, and wheat, And a large chesnut, the delicious meat [eat. Which Jove himself, were he a mouse, would And, for a haut goust, there was mixt with these The swerd of bacon, and the coat of cheese: The precious reliques which, at harvest, he Had gather'd from the reaper's luxury. "Freely" (said he) "fall on, and never spare, The bounteous gods will for to morrow care." And thus at ease, on beds of straw, they lay, And to their genius sacrific'd the day: Yet the nice guest's Epicurean mind, (Though breeding made him civil seem and kind) Despis'd this country feast; and still his thought Upon the cakes and pies of London wrought. "Your bounty and civility" (said he), "Which I'm surpris'd in these rude parts to see, Shows that the gods have given you a mind Too noble for the fate which here you find. Why should a soul, so virtuous and so great, Lose itself thus in an obscure retreat? Let savage beasts lodge in a country den; You should see towns, and manners know, and

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And taste the generous luxury of the court,
Where all the mice of quality resort;
Where thousand beauteous shes about you move,
And, by high fare, are pliant made to love.
We all, ere long, must render up our breath;
No cave or hole can shelter us from death.
Since life is so uncertain, and so short,
Let's spend it all in feasting and in sport.
Come, worthy sir, come with me and partake
All the great things that mortals happy make."
Alas! what virtue hath sufficient arms
T'oppose bright honour, and soft pleasure's

charms:

What wisdom can their magic force repel ? It draws this reverend hermit from his cell. It was the time, when witty poets tell, "That Phoebus into Thetis' bosom fell: She blush'd at first, and then put out the light, And drew the modest curtains of the night." Plainly the truth to tell, the Sun was set, When to the town our wearied travellers get: To a lord's house, as lordly as can be, Made for the use of pride and luxury, They come; the gentle courtier at the door Stops, and will hardly enter in before: "But 'tis, sir, your command, and being so, I'm sworn t' obedience; and so in they go."

Behind a hanging, in a spacious room
(The richest work of Mortclake's noble loom)
They wait a while, their wearied limbs to rest,
Till silence should invite them to their feast.
"About the hour that Cynthia's silver light
Had touch'd the pale meridies of the night;"
At last, the various supper being done,
It happen'd that the company was gone
Into a room remote, servants and all,
To please their noble fancies with a ball.
Our host leads forth his stranger, and does find
All fitted to the bounties of his mind.
Still on the table half-fill'd dishes stood,
And with delicious bits the floor was strew'd.
The courteous mouse presents him with the best,
And both with fat varieties are blest.

Th' industrious peasant every where does range,
And thanks the Gods for his life's happy change.
Lo! in the midst of a well-freighted pye,
They both at last glutted and wanton lie;
When, see the sad reverse of prosperous fate,
And what fierce storms on mortal glories wait!
With hideous noise down the rude servants come
Six dogs before run barking into th' room;
The wretched gluttons fly with wild affright,
And hate the fullness, which retards their flight.
Our trembling peasant wishes now, in vain,
That rocks and mountains cover'd him again;
Oh, how the change of his poor life he curst!
"This, of all lives" (said he)" is sure the worste
Give me again, ye gods, my cave and wood!
With peace, let tares and acorns be my food!"

A PARAPHRASE UPON THE 10th EPISTLE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE.

HORACE TO FUSCUS ARISTIUS.

HEALTH, from the lover of the country, me,
Health, to the lover of the city, thee;

A difference in our souls, this only proves;
In all things else, we agree like married doves.
But the warm nest and crowded dove house thou
Dost like; I loosely fly from bough to bough,
And rivers drink, and all the shining day
Upon fair trees or mossy rocks I play;
In fine, I live and reign, when I retire
From all that you equal with Heaven admire ;
Like one at last from the priest's service fled,
Loathing the honied cakes, I long for bread.
Would I a house for happiness erect,
Nature alone should be the architect,
She'd build it more convenient than great,
And doubtless in the country choose her seat;
Is there a place doth better helps supply
Against the wounds of Winter's cruelty?
Is there an air, that gentlier does assuage
The mad celestial Dog's, or Lion's, rage?
Is it not there that sleep (and only there)
Nor noise without, nor cares within, does fear!
Does art through pipes a purer water bring,
Than that, which Nature strains into a spring}
Can all your tap'stries, or your pictures show
More beauties, than in herbs and flowers do
grow?

Fountains and trees our wearied pride do please
Ev'n in the midst of gilded palaces,

And in your towns, that prospect gives delight,
Which opens round the country to our sight.
Men to the good, from which they rashly fly,
Return at last; and their wild luxury
Does but in vain with those true joys contend,
Which Nature did to mankind recommend.
The man who changes gold for burnish'd brass,
Or small right gems for larger ones of glass,
Is not, at length, more certain to be made
Ridiculous, and wretched by the trade,
Than he, who sells a solid good, to buy
The painted goods of pride and vanity.
If thou be wise, no glorious fortune choose,
Which 'tis but pain to keep, yet grief to lose!
For, when we place ev'n trifles in the heart,
With trifles too, unwillingly we part.

An humble roof, plain bed, and homely board,
More clear, untainted pleasures do afford,
Than all the tumult of vain greatness brings
To kings, or to the favourites of kings.
The horned deer, by nature arm'd so well,
Did with the horse in common pasture dwell,
And, when they fought, the field it always wan,
Till the ambitious horse begg'd help of man,
And took the bridle, and thenceforth did reign
Bravely alone, as lord of all the plain;
But never after could the rider get
From off his back, or from his mouth the bit.
So they, who poverty too much do fear,

T' avoid that weight, a greater burthen bear;
That they might power above their equals have,
To cruel masters they themselves enslave.
For gold, their liberty exchang'd we see,
That fairest flower which crowns humanity 3.
And all this mischief does upon them light,
Only, because they know not how, aright,
That great, but secret, happiness to prize,
That 's laid up in a little, for the wise:
That is the best and easiest estate,
Which to a man sits close, but not too strait;
'Tis like a shoe; it pinches and it burns,
Too narrow; and too large, it overturns.
My dearest friend! stop thy desires at last,
And chearfully enjoy the wealth thou hast :
And, if me still seeking for more you see,
Chide and reproach, despise and laugh at me.
Money was made, not to command our will,
But all our lawful pleasures to fulfil :
Shame and woe to us, if we our wealth obey;
The horse doth with the horseman run away.

The specious inconveniences, that wait
Upon a life of business, and of state,
He sees (nor does the sight disturb his rest
By fools desir'd, by wicked men possest.
Thus, this (and this deserv'd great Virgil's
praise)

The old Corycian yeoman pass'd his days;
Thus his wise life Abdolonymus spent:

Th' ambassadors, which the great emperor sent
To offer him a crown, with wonder found
The reverend gardener hoeing of his ground;
Unwillingly, and slow, and discontent,
From his lov'd cottage to a throne he went;
And oft he stopt, in his triumphant way:
And oft look'd back, and oft was heard to say.
Not without sighs, Alas! I there forsake

A happier kingdom than I go to take!
Thus Aglaus (a man unknown to men,
But the gods knew, and therefore lov'd him then)
Thus liv'd obscurely then without a name,
Aglaüs, now consign'd t' eternal fame.
For Gyges, the rich king, wicked and great,
Presum'd, at wise Apollo's Delphic seat
Presum'd, to ask, "Oh thou, the whole world's
See'st thou a man that happier is than I?"
The god, who scorn'd to flatter man, reply'd,
"Aglaüs happier is." But Gyges cry'd,

[eye,

In a proud rage, "Who can that Aglaüs be!
We have heard, as yet, of no such king as he."
And true it was, through the whole Earth around
No king of such a name was to be found.
"Is some old hero of that name alive,
Who his high race docs from the gods derive?
Is it some mighty general, that has done
Wonders in fight, and god-like honours won?
Is it some man of endless wealth?" said he.
"None, none of these." "Who can this Aglais
After long search, and vain inquiries past, [be?
In an obscure Arcadian vale at last

(Th' Arcadian life has always shady been)
Near Sopho's town (which he but once had seen)
This Aglaus, who monarch's envy drew,
Whose happiness the gods stood witness to,
This mighty Aglaüs, was labouring found,
With his own hands, in his own little ground.

So, gracious God! (if it may lawful be,
Among those foolish gods to mention thee)
So let me act, on such a private stage,
The last dull scenes of my declining age;
After long toils and voyages in vain,
This quiet port let my tost vessel gain;
Of heavenly rest, this earnest to me lend,
Let my life sleep, and learn to love her end.

THE COUNTRY LIFE.

Lib. IV. Plantarum,

BLEST be the man (and blest he is) whom e'er
(Plac'd far out of the roads of hope or fear)
A little field, and little garden, feeds:
The field gives all that frugal Nature needs;
The wealthy garden liberally bestows
All she can ask, when she luxurious grows,

3 The poet, as usual, expresses his own feeling: but he does more, he expresses it very classically. The allusion is to the ancient custom of wearing wreaths or garlands of flowers, on any occasion of joy and festivity. HURDA

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