'Tis thus thro' change of exercise I range,
And ftrength and pleasure rife from ev'ry change.
Here beauteous Health for all the year remain,
When the next comes, I'll charm thee thus again.
Oh come, thou Goddess of my rural fong,
And bring thy daughter, calm Content along,
Dame of the ruddy cheek and laughing eye,
From whose bright prefence clouds of forrow fly:
For her 1 mow my walks, I plait my bow'rs,
Clip my low hedges, and support my flow'rs;
To welcome her, this fummer feat I drest,
And here I court her when she comes to rest;
When she from exercise to learned ease
Shall change again, and teach the change to please. -
Now friends converfing my foft hours refine,
And Tully's Tufculum revives in mine:
Now to grave books I bid the mind retreat,
And fuch as make me rather good than great.
Or o'er the works of eafy fancy rove,
Where flutes and innocence amuse the grove;
The native bard that on Sicilian plains
First fung the lowly manners of the swains;
Or Maro's mufe that in the fairest light
Paints rural prospects and the charms of fight:
These soft amusements bring content along,
And fancy, void of forrow, turns to fong.
Here beauteous health for all the year remain,
When the next comes, I'll charm thee thus again.
AN ECLOGUE.
WHEN in the river cows for coolness stand,
And sheep for breezes feek the lofty land,
A youth, whom Aefop taught that ev'ry tree,
Each bird and infect spoke as well as he;
Walk'd calmly musing in a fhaded way,
Where flow'ring hawthorn broke the funny ray,
And thus inftructs his moral pen to draw
A scene that obvious in the field he faw.
Near a low ditch, where shallow waters meet,
Which never learnt to glide with liquid feet,
Whose Naiads never prattle as they play,
But screen'd with hedges flumber out the day,
There stands a flender fern's aspiring shade,
Whofe anfw'ring branches regularly lay'd
Put forth their anfw'ring boughs, and proudly rife
Three ftories upward, in the nether skies.
For fhelter here, to fhun the noon-day heat,
An airy nation of the Flies retreat;
Some in foft air their filken pinions ply,
And fome from bough to bough delighted fly,
Some rife, and circling light to perch again;
A pleafing murmur hums along the plain.
So, when a stage invites to pageant shows,
(If great and small are like) appear the Beaux;
In boxes fome with fpruce pretenfion fit,
Some change from feat to feat within the pit,
Some roam the scenes, or turning cease to roam;
Perluding mufic fills the lofty dome.
When thus a fly (if what a fly can fay
Deferves attention) rais'd the rural lay.
Where late Amintor made a nymph a bride,
Joyful I flew by young Favonia's fide,
Who, mindless of the feafting, went to fip
The balmy pleasure of the fhepherd's lip.
I saw the wanton, where I ftoop'd to fup,
And half refolv'd to drown me in the cup;
'Till brush'd by careless hands, fhe foar'd above:
Ceafe, beauty, ceafe to vex a tender love.
Thus ends the youth, the buzzing meadow rung, And thus the rival of his mufic fung.
When funs by thousands fhone in orbs of dew, I wafted foft with Zephyretta flew;
Saw the clean pail, and fought the milky chear,
While little Daphne feiz'd my roving dear.
Wretch that I was! I might have warn'd the dame,
Yet fat indulging as the danger came,
But the kind huntress let her free to foar:
Ah! guard, ye Lovers, guard a mistress more.
Thus from the fern, whofe high-projecting arms, The fleeting nation bent with dusky swarms,
The Swains their love in eafy mufic breathe,
When tongues and tumult stun the field beneath.
Black Ants in teams come darkning all the road,
Some call to march, and fome to lift the load;
They ftrain, they labour with inceffant pains,
Prefs'd by the cumbrous weight of fingle grains.
The Flies ftruck filent gaze with wonder down:
The bufy Burghers reach their earthy town;
Where lay the burthens of a wint'ry store,
And thence unwearied part in search of more.
Yet one grave fage a moment's fpace attends,
And the small city's loftieft point afcends,
Wipes the falt dew that trickles down his face,
And thus harangues them with the gravest grace.
Ye foolish nurflings of the Summer air,
These gentle tunes and whining fongs forbear;
Your trees and whisp'ring breeze, your Grove and Love,
Your Cupid's quiver, and his mother's dove:
Let bards to business bend their vig'rous wing,
And fing but feldom, if they love to fing:
Elfe, when the flourets of the season fail,
And thus your fenny fhade forfakes the vale,
Tho' one would fave ye, not one grain of wheat
Shou'd pay fuch fongfters idling at my gate.
He ceas'd: the Flies, incorrigibly vain,
Heard the May'r's Speech, and fell to fing again.
N vain, poor nymph, to please our youthful fight
You fleep in cream and frontlets all the night, Your face with patches foil, with paint repair, Drefs with gay gowns, and shade with foreign hair. If truth in fpight of manners must be told, Why really Fifty-five is fomething old.
Once you were young; or one whofe life's fo long
She might have born my mother, tells me wrong.
And once (fince Envy's dead before you dye,)
The women own, you play'd a sparkling eye,
Taught the light foot a modish little trip,
And pouted with the prettieft purple lip—
To fome new charmer are the roses fled,
Which blew, to damask all thy cheek with red;
Youth calls the Graces there to fix their reign,
And Airs by thousands fill their easy train.
So parting Summer bids her flow'ry prime
Attend the fun to dress fome foreign clime,
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