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up unconscious, and refute the charge. So when the Jewish Leader stretch'd his arm, 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 fill'd; The croaking nuisance lurk'd in ev'ry nook, Nor palaces nor even chambers 'scap'd, And the land stank, so num'rous was the fry.



A S K.



Self-recollection and reproof.--

Address to domestic happinefs. Some account of myself. - The vanity of many of their pursuits who are reputed wife.-- Justification of my censures.Divine illumination necessary to the most expert philosopher. The question, What is truth? answered by other questions. Domestic happiness addressed again.-Few lovers of the country.--My tame bare.--Occupations of a retired gentleman in bis 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 seafon. Ruinous effe Ets of gaming and of expensive improvement. - Book concludes with an apostrophe te ibe metropolis.

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As one who, long in thickets and in brakes
Entangled, winds now this way and now that
His devious course uncertain, seeking home;
Or having long in miry ways been foil'd
And sore discomfited, from Nough to flough
Plunging, and half despairing of escape,
If chance at length he find a green-fward smootła
And faithful to the foot, his fpirits rise,
He chirrups brisk his ear-erecting steed,
And winds his way with pleasure and with ease;
So I, designing other themes, and call'd


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 founding-boards reflect Most part an empty ineffe&tual found, What chance that I, to fame so little known, Nor converfant with men or manners much, Should speak to purpose, or with better hope Crack the satiric thong ? 'twere wifer far For me, enamour'd of fequefter'd scenes, And charm'd with rural beauty, to repose Where chance may throw me, beneath elm or vine, My languid limbs when fummer fears the plains,


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