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Show 88 P 0 E M S. Whofe happy days no Pride infects, nor can His other Titles make him flight the man \ N o dark Ambitious thoughts do cloud his brow, Nor reftlefs cares when to be great, and how \ W h o fcorns to envy Wealth where e'er it be, But pities fuch a Golden Slavery \ With no mean fawnings can the people court, Nor wholly flight a popular report; Whofe houfe no Orphan groans do fhake or blaft, Nor any riot help to ferve his tafte : W h o from the top of his Profperities Can take a fall, and yet without furprize ; W h o with the fame auguft and even ftate Can entertain the beft and worft of Fate 9 Whofe fuffering's fweet, if Honour once adorn it; W h o flights Revenge, .yet does not fear, but fcorn it \ Whofe Happinefs iniev'ry Fortune lives, For that no Fortune either takes or gives; W h o no unhandfome ways can bribe his Fate, Nay, out of Prifon marches through the Gate \ W h o lofing all his Titles and his Pelf, Nay, all the World, can never lofe himfelf \ This Perfon.fhines indeed, and he that can Be \ irtuous is the great Immortal Man. A Country-life. HOw Sacred and how Innocent A Country-life appears, H o w free from Tumult, Difcontent, From Flattery or Fears! This was the firft and happieft Life, W h e n man enjoy'd himfelf; Till Pride exchanged Peace for Strife, And Happinefs for Pelf. 'Twas here the Poets were infpir'd, Here taught the multitude j The POEM S. The brave they here with Honour fir'd, And civiliz'd the rude, That Golden Age did entertain N o Paffion but* of Love; The thoughts of Ruling and of Gain Did ne'er their Fancies move. None dien did envy Neighbour's wealth, Nor plot to wrong his bed : Happy in Friendfhip and in Health, O n Roots, not Beafts, they fed. They knew no L a w nor Phyfick then, Nature was all their Wit. And if there yet remain to men Content, fure this is it. What Bleffings doth this World afford T o tempt or bribe defire ? Her Courtfhip is ail Fire and Sword, W h o would not then retire ? Then welcome deareft Solitude, M y great Felicity ; Though fome are pleas'd to call thee rude, Thou art not fo, but we. Them that do covet only reft, A Cottage will fuffice : It is not brave to be pofieft O f Earth, but to defpife. Opinion is the rate of things, From hence our Peace doth flow ; I have a better Fate than Kings, Becaufe I think it fo. W h e n all the ftormy World doth roar H o w unconcern'd am I ? I cannot fear to tumble lower W h o never could be high. Secure in thefe unenvi'd walls I think not on the State, And pity no mans cafe that falls From his Ambition s height, N ' |
