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Sublime above the rest, the statelier stand.

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So once were rang'd the sons of ancient Rome,
A noble show! while Roscius trod the stage;
And so, while Garrick, as renown'd as he,
The sons of Albion; fearing each to lose
Some note of Nature's music from his lips,
And covetous of Shakspeare's beauty, seen
In ev'ry flash of his far-beaming eye.
Nor taste alone and well-contriv'd display
Suffice to give the marshall'd ranks the grace
Of their complete effect. Much yet remains
Unsung, and many cares are yet behind,
And more laborious; cares on which depend
Their vigour, injur'd soon, not soon restor❜d.
The soil must be renew'd, which often wash'd
Loses it's treasure of salubrious salts,
And disappoints the roots; the slender roots
Close interwoven, where they meet the vase,
Must smooth be shorn away; the sapless branch
Must fly before the knife; the wither'd leaf

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Must be detach'd, and where it strews the floor

Swept with a woman's neatness, breeding else
Contagion, and disseminating death.

Discharge but these kind offices, (and who

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Would spare, that loves them, offices like these?)
Well they reward the toil. The sight is pleas'd,
The scent regal'd, each odorif'rous leaf,
Each op'ning blossom, freely breathes abroad
It's gratitude, and thanks him with it's sweets.

So manifold, all pleasing in their kind,
All healthful, are th' employs of rural life,
Reiterated as the wheel of time

Runs round; still ending, and beginning still,
Nor are these all. To deck the shapely knoll,
That softly swell'd and gaily dress'd appears
A flow'ry island, from the dark green lawn
Emerging, must be deem'd a labour due

To no mean hand, and asks the touch of taste.

Here also grateful mixture of well-match'd

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And sorted hues (each giving each relief,

The beds the trusted treasure of their seeds, 650 Forecasts the future whole; that when the scene

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And sorted hues (each giving each relief,

And by contrasted beauty shining more)

Is needful. Strength may wield the pond'rous spade,

May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home; But elegance, chief grace the garden shows,

And most attractive, is the fair result

Of thought, the creature of a polish'd mind.

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Without it all is Gothic as the scene,

To which th' insipid citizen resorts

Near yonder heath; where Industry mispent,
But proud of his uncouth ill-chosen task,

Has made a Heav'n on Earth; with suns and moons Of close-ramm'd stones has charg'd th' encumber'd soil,

And fairly laid the zodiac in the dust.

He therefore, who would see his flow'rs dispos'd Sightly and in just order, ere he gives

The beds the trusted treasure of their seeds, 650

Forecasts the future whole; that when the scene

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