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Our children's children shall our steps pursue,
And the same errors be for ever new !
Meanwhile, in hope a guiltless country swain,
My reed with warblings chears th’imagin'd plain.
Hail, humble shades, where truth and filence dwell!
Thou, noisy town, and faithless court, farewel !
Farewel ambition, once my darling flame!
The thirst of lucre, and the charm of fame!
In life's bye-road, that winds thro' paths unknown,
My days, tho'number'd, shall be all my own!
Here shall they end (O might they twice begin !)
And all be white the fates intend to spin.

THE CIT’S COUNTRY-BOX.

BY 'MR. ROBERT LLOYD,

Vos sapere et solos aio bene vivere, quorum,
Confpicitur nitidis fundata pecunia villis.

HOR.

TH

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HE wealthy cit, grown old in trade,

Now wishes for the rural shade,
And buckles to his one-horse chair
Old Dobbin, or the founder'd mare ;
While wedg'd in closely by his side,
Sits Madam, his unwieldy bride,
With Jacky on a stool before 'em,
And out they jog in due decorum.
Scarce past the turnpike half a mile,
• How all the country seems to smile !!
And as they slowly jog together,
The cit commends the road and weather ;
While Madam doats upon the trees,
And longs for ev'ry house she fees,

a

Admires

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Admires it's views, it's situation,
And thus the opens her oration.

• What signifies the loads of wealth,
• Without that richest jewel, health ?
• Excuse the fondness of a wife,
• Who doats upon your precious life!
• Such easeless toil, such conftant care,
• Is more than human strength can bear :
e One

may

observe it in your face
• Indeed, my dear, you break apace;
• And nothing can your health repair,
• Bnt exercise, and country air.
« Sir Traffick has a house, you know,
• About a mile from Cheney Row :
• He's a good man, indeed, 'tis true,
• But not fo warm, my dear, as you ;
. And folks are always apt to [neer-
• One would not be out-done, my dear!"

Sir Traffick's name fo well apply'd,
Awak'd his brother merchant's pride ;
And Thrifty, who had all his life
Paid utmost deference to his wife,
Confefs'd her arguments had reason;
And by th' approaching summer season,
Draws a few hundreds from the stocks,
And purchases his Country-box.

Some three or four miles out of town,
(An hour's ride will bring you down)
He fixes on his choice abode,
Not half a furlong from the road;
And so convenient does it lay,
The stages pass it ev'ry day:
And then so snug, so mighty pretty,
To have a house fo near the city!
Take but your places at the Boar,
You're fet down at the very door.

1

Well

Well then, suppose them fixʼd at last,
White-washing, painting, scrubbing past;
Hugging themselves in eafe and clover,
With all the fuss of moving over ;
Lo, a new heap of whims are bred,
And wanton in my lady's head !

• Well; to be sure, it must be own'd,
• It is a charming spot of ground :
& So sweet

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distance for a ride, « And all about fo countrify'd ! « 'Twould come to but a trifling price • To make it quite a paradise ! ? I cannot bear those naity rails, • Those ugly, broken, mouldy pales : • Suppose, my dear, instead of these, • We build a railing all Chinese ; • Altho' one hates to be expos’d,

'Tis dismal to be thus enclos'd :

One hardly any object sees-, . I wish you'd fell those odious trees. • Objects continual passing by,

Were something to amuse the eye ; < But to be pent within the walls, • One might as well be at St. Paul's.

Our house, beholders would adore, " Was there a level lawn before,

Nothing it's views to incommode, • But quite laid open to the road ; " While ev'ry trav’ller in amaze,

Should on our little mansion gaze; • And pointing to the choice retreat, & Cry, “ That's Sir Thrifty's country-feat!"

No doubt her arguments prevail, For Madam's TASTE can never fail.

Bless’d age ! when all men may procure The title of a connoisseur ;

Bb

Wher

When noble and ignoble herd
Are govern'd by a single word;
Tho', like the royal German dames,
It bears an hundred Christian names
As Genius, Fancy, Judgment, Goût,
Whim, Caprice, Je ne sçai quoi, Vistù :
Which appellations all describe
TASTE, and the modern tasteful tribe.

Now bricklay’rs, carpenters, and joiners,
With Chinese artists and designers,
Produce their schemes of alteration,
To work this wondrous reformation,
The useful dome, which fecret stood,
Embofom'd in the yew-tree's wood,
The trav’ller with amazement fees
A temple Gothick or Chinese,
With many a bell and tawdry rag on,
And crested with a sprawling dragon;
A wooden arch is bent aftride
A ditch of water, four feet wide,
With angles, curves, and zigzag lines,
From Halfpenny's exact designs :
In front, a level lawn is seen,
Without a shrub

upon

the

green ;
Where Taste would want it's first great law,
But for the fkulking, fly ha-ha;
By whose miraculous affiftance
You gain a prospect two fields distance.
And now from Hyde-Park-Corner come
The gods of Athens and of Rome.
Here squabby Cupids take their places,
With Venus, and the clumsy Graces ;
Apollo there, with aim fo clever,
Stretches his leaden bow for ever ;
And there, without the pow'r to fly,
Stando fix'd a tip-toe Mercury.

The

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The villa thus compleatly grac’d;
All own, that Thrifty has a taste;
And Madam's female friends and cousins,
With common-council-men, by dozens,
Flock ev'ry Sunday to the seat;
To ftare about them; and to eat:

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WHEN-Sleep's all-foothing hand, with fetters foft,

;

Ties down each sense, and lulls to balmy reft; Th' internal pow'r, creative Fancy, oft

Broods o'er her treasures in the formfül breast Thus, when no longer daily cares engage,

The busy mind pursues the darling theme;
Hence angels whisper'd to the flumb'ring fage,

And gods of old inspir'd the hero's dream :
Hence, as I slept, these images arose
To Fancy's eye ; and join'd, this fairy scene compose.

II.
As, when fair morning dries her pearly tears,

The mountain lifts o'er mifts it's lofty head;
Thus, new to fight, a Gothick dome appears

With the grey ruft of rolling years o'erspread. .
Here Superstition holds her dreary reign,

And her lip-labour'd orisons she plies
In tongue unknown, when morn bedews the plain;

Or ev'ning skirts with gold the western skies;
To the dumb stock she bends, or sculptur'd wall,
And many a cross the makes, and many a bead lets fall.

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