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Whilft in the Vale beneath he views

His wand'ring Sheep, and grazing Cows.
Sometimes he prunes the ufelefs Shoots,
And grafts a Branch of better Fruits:
Or cracks the Bees laborious Juice,
Or Shears his bleating Lambs and Ewes.
When Autumn's fruitful Month appears,
He gathers in the melting Pears;
And purple Grapes, fo red, fo fweet,
From Trees and Vines himself had fet;
His Off'rings to Priapus yields,
And Faunus, Guardian of his Fields.
Sometimes he basks beneath the Shade,
Or on the Grafs fupinely laid,
Clofe by fome Brook, or limpid Spring,
Whilst all the wing'd-Muficians fing
The Riv'lets murmur as they creep,
And gently lull the Swain to fleep.
Soon as the Storms and Cold draw near,
And Jove inverts the frofty Year,
He calls his Dogs, his Toils he lays,
And gives the Savage Boar the Chace;
Or fpreads his Nets around the Bush,
To catch the poor deluded Thrush;
Courses the Hare along the Plain,
And fnares the noisy wand'ring Crane.
Such Pleasures, and fuch Sports remove ·
All Thoughts of Care, and Pains of Love:

But

But if a Race of prattling Boys,
And gentle Spouse divide his Joys,
Some Sabine Matron, hail and brown,
Tann'd by the fcorching Summer-Sun;
She ftirs the Fire, and makes it burn,
Against her Husband's wifh'd return;
Or pens the Ewes that play and bleat,
And drains the fwelling, milky Teat.
She, and her Spouse, and Children dipe
On windy Cale, and this Year's Wine.
The Lucrine Oysters I difdain,

And all the Dainties of the Main,
Which, when the Eastern Tempests roar,
Are wafted to the Latian Shore.
I nor in Turkey take Delight,

Nor long for Partridge, or for Snipe;
My Board with luscious Olives fpread,
Or Sorrel from the verdant Mead,
Or Mallows of falubrious Juice,
That keep the temp'rate Body loose;
Or tender Lampkin; fweet Repaft,
Which hungry Wolves in vain had chac'd,
Or Kid with favoury Sallets drefs'd,
To crown fome folemn Sylvan Feast.
Whilft thus we fatten and carouze,
How sweet the pleafing Profpect fhows,
Of Flocks returning in a Row,

And Bullocks from the Yoke and Plow!

Whilft all the little Troops of Swains
Around the Lares fport and dance.
Thus Alfius fpake, refoly'd to try
The Country's fweet Variety:
He call'd his Money in, and then
The Mifer put it out agen.

ΤΟ

To the Ingenious

Mr. MOORE,

Author of the Celebrated

WORM-POWDER.

શી

By Mr. POPE.

OW much, Egregious MOORE, are we
Deceiv'd by Shows, and Forms?

Whate'er we think, whate'er we fee,

All Human Race are WoRMS,

MAN is a very WORM by Birth,
Proud Reptile, vile and vain,

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A while he crawls upon the Earth,

Then fhrinks to Earth again.

The Learn'd themfelves, we Boo K-WORM S Name,

The Blockhead, is a SLow-W OR M;

The Nymph, whofe Tail is all on Flame,
Is aptly term'd a GLOW-W OR M.

The Fops are painted Butter-Flies,

That flutter for a Day;

Firft from a WOR M they took their Rife,

Then in a WOR м decay.

The Flatterer an Ear-wig grows,

Some WORM s fuit all Conditions;

Mifers are MUCK-WORMS, SILK-WORMS, Beaus,
And DEATH-WATCHES, Phyficians.

That Statesmen have a WORM is feen,

By all their winding Play;

Their Confcience is a WOR M within,
That gnaws them Night and Day.

Ah! MOORE! Thy Skill were well Imploy'd,
And greater Gain would rise,

If thou couldst make the Courtier void

The WORM that never dies.

O Learned

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