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Content with all a farm would yield,
Thus Sidon's monarch liv'd unknown, And sigh'd to leave his little field
For the long glories of a throneThere once more happy and more free, Than rank'd with Dido's ancestry.
With these pacific virtues blest,
These charms of philosophic ease, Wrapt in your RICHMOND's tranquil rest.
You pass, dear C-, your useful days, Where THAMES your silent vallies laves, Proud of his yet untainted waves.
Should life's more public scenes engage
Your time that thus consistent Aows, And following still these maxims sage
For ever brings the same repose ; Your worth may greater fame procure, But hope not happiness so pure.
DEAR Chloe, while the busy crowd,
In Folly's maze advance;
Nor join the giddy dance.
From the gay world we'll oft retire
Where love our hours employs ;
To spoil our heart-felt joys.
If solid happiness we prize,
And they are fools who roam :
And that dear hut, our home.
Of rest was Noah's dove bereft,
That safe retreat, the ark;
Explor’d the sacred bark.
Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle pow'rs,
By sweet experience know,
A paradise below.
Our babes shall richest comforts bring ;
Whence pleasures ever rise :
And train them for the skies.
While they our wisest hours engage,
And crown our hoary hairs :
And recompence our cares.
No borrow'd joys! they're all our own, While to the world we live unknown,
Or by the world forgot : Monarchs! we envy not your state; We look with pity on the great,
And bless our humbler lot.
Our portion is not large indeed,
For Nature's calls are few !
And make that little do.
We'll therefore relish with content
Nor aim beyond our pow'r ; For if our stock be very small, 'Tis prudence to enjoy it all,
Nor lose the present hour.
To be resign'd when ills betide,
And pleas'd with favours given :
Whose fragrance smells to heav'n.
We'll ask no long-protracted treat, (Since winter life is seldom sweet) :
But when our feast is o'er, Grateful from table we'll arise., Nor grudge our sons, with envious eyes,
The relics of our store.
Thus hand in hand through life we'll go, Its checker'd paths of joy and woe
With cautious steps we'll tread; Quit its vain scenes without a tear, Without a trouble or a fear,
And mingle with the dead:
While Conscience, like a faithful friend, Shall through the gloomy vale attend,
And cheer our dying breath ; Shall, when all other comforts cease, Like a kind angel whisper peace,
And smooth the bed of death.