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Nor turbot, or the foreign fish,
That rolling tempests overtake,
And hither waft the costly dish:
Not heathpout, or the rarer birds
Which Phasis or Ionia yields,
More pleasing morsels would afford,
Than the fat olives of my fields;
Than shards or mallows for the pot,
That keep the loosen'd body sound;

Or than the lamb that falls my lot,
To the just guardian of my ground.
Amidst these feasts of happy swains,
The jolly shepherd smiles to see
His flock returning from the plains;
The farmer is as pleas'd as he,
To view his oxen sweating smoke,

Bear on their necks the loosen'd yoke,

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To look upon his menial crew,

That sit around his cheerful hearth,

And bodies spent in toil renew

With wholesome food and country mirth.
This Morecraft said within himself;
Resolv'd to leave the wicked Town,

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Into the naked woods he goes,

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And seeks the tusky boar to rear

With well-mouth'd hounds and pointed spear;

Or spreads his subtle nets from sight,
With twinkling glasses to betray
The larks that in the meshes light,
Or makes the fearful hare his prey.
Amidst his harmless easy joys,
No anxious care invades his health,
Nor love his peace of mind destroys,
Nor wicked avarice of wealth.
But if a chaste and pleasing wife,
To ease the bus'ness of his life,

Divides with him his household care,
Such as the Sabine matrons were,
Such as the swift Apulian's bride,
Sun-burnt and swarthy tho' she be,
Will fire for winter nights provide,
And, without noise, will oversee
His children and his family,
And order all things till he come,
Sweaty, and over-labour'd, home:
If she in pens his flocks will fold,
And then produce her dairy store,
With wine to drive away the cold,
And unbought dainties of the poor;
Not oysters of the Lucrine lake
My sober appetite would wish,

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And when rebellious they are grown,

Then lay thy hand, and hold 'em down.

Chase from our minds th' infernal foe,

And peace, the fruit of love, bestow;

And, lest our feet should step astray,
Protect and guide us in the way.

Make us eternal truths receive,

And practise all that we believe.

Give us thyself that we may see

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The Father, and the Son, by thee.

Immortal honour, endless fame,

Attend th' Almighty Father's name :
The Saviour Son be glorify'd,

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Who for lost man's redemption dy'd;
And equal adoration be,

Eternal Paraclete! to thee.

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PARAPHRASED.

CREATOR Spirit! by whose aid
The world's foundations first were laid,
Come visit ev'ry pious mind;

Come pour thy joys on human-kind;
From sin and sorrow set us free,

And make thy temples worthy thee.
O Source of uncreated light!
The Father's promis'd Paraclete;
Thrice Holy Fount! thrice Holy Fire
Our hearts with heav'nly love inspire;
Come, and thy sacred unction bring,
To sanctify us while we sing.

Plenteous of grace, descend from high,

Rich in thy sev'nfold energy!

Thou strength of his almighty hand,

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Whose pow'r does heav'n and earth command;

Proceeding Spirit, our defence,

Who dost the gift of tongues dispense,
And crown'st thy gift with eloquence!

Refine and purge our earthly parts;

But, oh! inflame and fire our hearts!
Our frailties help, our vice control,
Submit the senses to the soul;

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And when rebellious they are grown,

Then lay thy hand, and hold 'em down.

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Chase from our minds th' infernal foe,

And peace, the fruit of love, bestow;

And, lest our feet should step astray,

Protect and guide us in the way.

Make us eternal truths receive,

And practise all that we believe.

Give us thyself that we may see
The Father, and the Son, by thee.

Immortal honour, endless fame,
Attend th' Almighty Father's name :
The Saviour Son be glorify'd,

Who for lost man's redemption dy'd ;
And equal adoration be,

Eternal Paraclete! to thee.

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