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For all the favage din of the fwift pack,
And clamours of the field? -Detested sport,
That owes its pleasures to another's pain;
That feeds upon the fobs and dying shrieks
Of harmless nature, dumb, but yet endu'd
With eloquence, that agonies inspire,
Of filent tears and heart-diftending fighs ?
Vain tears, alas, and fighs, that never find
A correfponding tone in jovial fouls !
Well-one at least is fafe. One shelter'd hare
Has never heard the fanguinary yell
Of cruel man, exulting in her woes.
Innocent partner of my peaceful home,
Whom ten long years' experience of my care
Has made at last familiar; she has loft
Much of her vigilant instinctive dread,
Not needful here, beneath a roof like mine.
Yes-thou may'st eat thy bread, and lick the hand
That feeds thee; thou may'st frolic on the floor
At evening, and at night retire fecure

To thy ftraw couch, and slumber unalarm'd;
For I have gain'd thy confidence, have pledg'd
All that is human in me to protect
Thine unsuspecting gratitude and love.

If I furvive thee I will dig thy grave;
And, when I place thee in it, fighing, say,
I knew at least one hare that had a friend.

How various his employments, whom the world

Calls idle; and who justly, in return,

Esteems that bufy world an idler too!
Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen,
Delightful industry enjoy'd at home,

And nature in her cultivated trim

Dress'd to his taste, inviting him abroad-
Can he want occupation who has these ?
Will he be idle who has much t' enjoy?
Me, therefore, studious of laborious ease,
Not flothful; happy to deceive the time,
Not waste it; and aware that human life

Is but a loan to be repaid with use,

When He shall call his debtors to account

From whom are all our blessings; bus'ness finds Ev'n here: while fedulous I seek t' improve,

At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd,

The mind he gave me; driving it, though flack
Too oft, and much impeded in its work

By causes not to be divulg'd in vain,
To its just point-the service of mankind.
He that attends to his interior self,

That has a heart, and keeps it; has a mind
That hungers, and supplies it; and who feeks
A focial, not a dissipated life,

Has business; feels himself engag'd t' achieve
No unimportant, though a filent, task.

A life all turbulence and noise may seem,
To him that leads it, wife, and to be prais'd;
But wisdom is a pearl with most success
Sought in still water, and beneath clear skies.
He that is ever occupied in storms,

Or dives not for it, or brings up instead,
Vainly industrious, a disgraceful prize.

The morning finds the self-fequefter'd man Fresh for his task, intend what tafk he may. Whether inclement seasons recommend His warm but simple home, where he enjoys, With her who shares his pleasures and his heart, Sweet converse, sipping calm the fragrant lymph Which neatly she prepares; then to his book, Well chofen, and not fullenly perus'd

In selfish filence, but imparted oft

As aught occurs that she may smile to hear,

Or turn to nourishment, digefted well.

Or, if the garden with its many cares,

All well repaid, demand him, he attends

The welcome call, confcious how much the hand

Of lubbard labour needs his watchful eye,

Oft loit'ring lazily, if not o'erfeen,

Or misapplying his unfkilful strength.

Nor does he govern only or direct,
But much performs himself. No works indeed

That ask robust tough finews, bred to toil,

Servile employ; but such as may amuse,
Not tire, demanding rather skill than force.
Proud of his well-fpread walls, he views his trees
That meet (no barren interval between)
With pleasure more than ev'n their fruits afford,
Which, fave himself who trains them, none can feel:
These, therefore, are his own peculiar charge;
No meaner hand may difcipline the shoots,
None but his steel approach them. What is weak,
Distemper'd, or has loft prolific pow'rs,
Impair'd by age, his unrelenting hand
Dooms to the knife: nor does he spare the foft
And fucculent, that feeds its giant growth,
But barren, at th' expence of neighb'ring twigs
Less oftentatious, and yet studded thick
With hopeful gems. The rest, no portion left
That may disgrace his art, or disappoint

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