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And wav'd his rod divine, a race obscene,
Spawn'd in the muddy beds of Nile, came forth,
Polluting Ægypt. Gardens, fields, and plains
Were cover'd with the peft. The streets were


The croaking nuisance lurk'd in ev'ry nook,
Nor palaces nor even chambers 'scap'd,
And the land ftank, fo num'rous was the fry.

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Self-recollection and reproof.Address to domestic happi

ness. Some account of myself. The vanity of many of their pursuits who are reputed wife.- Juftification of my censures.--Divine illumination neceffary to the molt expert philosopher. The question, What is truth? answered by other questions. - Domestic happiness addressed again. - Few lovers of the country.-My tame hare.-Occupations of a retired gentleman in his garden.-- Pruning. ---Framing. -- Greenhouse.- Sowing of flower-feeds. The country preferable to the town even in the winter.-Reasons why it is deserted at that season.- Ruinous effeds of gaming and of expenfive improvement.— Book concludes with an apostrophe to the metropolis

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S one who, long in thickets and in brakes
Entangled, winds now this way and now

His devious course uncertain, seeking home;
Or having long in miry ways been foild
And sore discomfited, from flough to flough
Plunging, and half despairing of escape,
If chance at length he find a green-fward smooth
And faithful to the foot, his spirits rise,
He chirrups brisk his car-ereâing steed,
And winds his way with pleasure and with ease;
Sol, designing other themes, and callid

E 2


T'adorn the Sofa with eulogium due,
To tell its slumbers and to paint its dreams,
Have rambled wide. In country, city, seat
Of Academic fame (howe'er deserv’d)
Long held, and scarcely disengag’d at last.
But now with pleasant pace, a cleanlier road
I mean to tread. I feel myself at large,
Courageous, and refresh'd for future toil,
If toil await me, or if dangers new.

Since pulpits fail, and sounding-boards refle&
Most part an empty ineffectual sound,
What chance that I, to fame so little known,
Nor conversant with men or manners much,
Should speak to purpose, or with better hope
Crack the satiric thong ? 'twere wiser far
For me, enamour'd of sequefter'd scenes,
And charm'd with rural beauty, to repose
Where chance may throw me, beneath elin or

vinc, My languid limbs when summer sears the plains, Or when rough winter rages, on the soft And shelter'd Sofa, while the nitrous air Feeds a blue flame, and makes a chearful hearth; There, undisturb’d by folly, and appriz'd How great the danger of disturbing her,


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