And the tann'd peasant, and his ruddy bride,
Were born together, and together died.
Where early larks best tell tho morning-light,
And only Philomel difturbs the night,

'Midft gardens here my humble pile shall rife,
With fweets furrounded of ten thousand dies;
All favage where th' embroider'd gardens end,
The haunt of echoes fhall my woods ascend;
And oh ! if heav'n th' ambitious thought approve,
A rill shall warble cross the gloomy grove,
A little rill, o'er pebbly beds convey'd,
Gufh down the steep, and glitter thro' the glade.
What cheering fcents those bord'ring banks exhale!
How loud that heifer lows from yonder vale!
That thrush, how fhrill! his note fo clear, so high,
He drowns each feather'd minstrel of the sky.
Here let me trace, beneath the purpled morn,
The deep-mouth'd beagle, and the sprightly horn;
Or lure the trout with well-diffembled flies,
Or fetch the flutt'ring partridge from the skies,
Nor fhall thy hand disdain to crop the vine,
The downy peach, or flavour'd nectarine;
Or rob the bee-hive of its golden hoard,
And bear th' unbought luxuriance to thy board.
Sometimes my books by day fhall kill the hours,
While from thy needle rife the filken flow'rs,
And, thou by turns to ease my feeble fight,
Resume the volume, and deceive the night.
Oh! when I mark thy twinkling eyes oppreft,
Soft whifp'ring, let me warn my love to rest;

Then watch thee, charm'd, while fleep locks every Jenfe,
And to fweet heav'n commend thy innocence.

Thus reign'd our fathers o'er the rural fold,
Wife, hale, and honeft, in the days of old;
Till courts arofe, where fubftance pays for fhow,
And fpecious joys are bought with real wo.
See Flavia's pendants, large, well spread, and right,
The ear that wears them hears a fool each night:
Mark how th' embroider'd col'nel sneaks away,
To fhun the with`ring dame that made him gay;
That knave, to gain a title, loft his fame;
That rais'd his credit by a daughter's fhame;
This coxcomb's riband coft him half his land,
And oaks, unnumber'd, bought that fool a wand.
Fond man, as all his forrows were too few,
Acquires ftrange wants that nature never knew.
By midnight-lamps he emulates the day,
And fleeps perverfe, the chearful funs away;
From goblets, high embofs'd, his wine must glide,
Round his clos'd fight the gorgeous curtain fide;
Fruits, ere their time, to grace his pomp muft rife,
And three untafted courfes glut his eyes.
For this are nature's gentle calls withftood,
The voice of confcience, and the bonds of blood;
This wisdom thy reward for ev'ry pain,
And this gay glory all thy mighty gain.
Fair phantoms woo'd and fcorn'd from age to age,
Since bards began to laugh, or priests to rage.
And yet, juft curfe on man's afpiring kind,
Prone to ambition, to example blind,

Our children's children shall our steps purfue,
And the fame errors be for ever new.

Mean while, in hope a guiltless country fwain,
My reed with warblings chears th' imagin'd plain.
Hail humble shades, where truth and filence dwell!
Thou noify town, and faithless court farewel!
Farewel ambition, once my darling flame !
The thirft of lucre, and the charm of fame!
In life's by-road, that winds thro' paths unknown,
My days, tho' number'd, fhall be all my own.
Here fhall they end, (O might they twice begin),
And all be white the fates intend to spin.

PROLOGUE

upon PROLOGUES.

Written by Mr. GARRICK.

N old trite proverb let me quote!

AN

As is your cloth, fo cut your coat.

To fuit our author and his farce,
Short let me be ! for wit is fcarce.
Nor would I fhew it, had I any,
The reasons why are ftrong and many.
Should I have wit, the piece have none,
A flash in pan with empty gun,
The piece is fure to be undone.
A tavern with a gaudy fign,
Whose bush is better than the wine,

}

May

Neat as imported, cheat you twice ?

'Tis wrong to raise your expectations: Poets be dull in dedications!

Dulness in these to wit prefer
But there indeed you feldom err.
In prologues, prefaces, be flat!
A filver button spoils your hat.
A thread-bare coat might jokes escape,
Did not the blockheads lace the cape.
A cafe in point to this before ye,
Allow me, pray, to tell a story!

To turn the penny, once, a wit
Upon a curious fancy hit;

Hung out a board on which he boafted,

Dinner for THREEPENCE! Boil'd and roafted!
The hungry read, and in they trip,
With eager eye and fmacking lip:
"Here, bring this boil'd and roafted, pray !"
Enter POTATOES-drefs'd each way.

All ftar'd and rofe, the house forfook,
And damn'd the dinner-kick'd the cook,
My landlord found, (poor Patrick Kelly),
There was no joking with the belly.

Thefe facts laid down, then thus I reafon:
-Wit in a prologue's out of feafon-
Yet ftill will you for jokes fit watching,
Like Cock-lane folks for Fanny's fcratching?
And here my fimile's fo fit,

For Prologues are but Ghafts of wit,

Which mean to fhew their art and skill,
And scratch you to their Author's will.

In fhort, for reasous great and small,
"Tis better to have none at all:
Prologues and Ghofts-a paltry trade,
So let them both at once be laid!
Say but the word-give your commands-
We'll tie our prologue-monger's hands:

Confine thefe culprits (bolding up his hands) bind’em tight,
Nor Girls can feratch nor Fools can write.

MR. FOOT E's ADDRESS TO THE PUBLIC,

After a Prosecution against him for a LIBEL.

H

USH! let me fearch before I speak aloud

Is no informer skulking in the croud!

With art laconic noting all that's faid,
Malice at heart, indictments in his head,
Prepar'd to levy all the legal war,

And roufe the clamorous legions of the bar!

Is there none fuch ?-not one ?-then entre nous,
I will a tale unfold, tho' ftrange, yet true;

The application must be made by you.

At Athens once, fair queen of arms and arts,
There dwelt a citizen of moderate parts !
Precife his manner, and demure his looks,
His mind unletter'd, tho' he dealt in books;

}

Amorous,