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HO' the feafons muft alter, ah! yet let me find,


What all muft confefs to be rare,

A female fill chearful, and faithful and kind,

The bleffings of Autumn to share.

Let one fide of our cottage, a flourishing vine
Overspread with it's branches and fhade;
Whose clusters appear more tranfparent and fine,
As it's leaves are beginning to fade.

When the fruit makes the branches bend down with it's load,

In our orchard furrounded with pales;

In a bed of clean ftraw let our apples be stow'd,

For a tart that in winter regales.

When the vapours that rise from the earth in the morn
Seem to hang on it's furface like fmoke,

Till difpers'd by the fun that gilds over the corn,
Within doors let us prattle and joke.

But when we fee clear all the hues of the leaves,

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And at work in the fields are all hands,

Some in reaping the wheat, others binding the fheaves,
Let us carelessly stroll o'er the lands.

How pleafing the fight of the toiling they make,
To collect what kind Nature has fent!

Heaven grant we may not of their labour partake;
But, oh! give us their happy content.

And fometimes on a bank, under fhade, by a brook,
Let us filently fit at our eafe,

And there gaze on the ftream, till the fish on the hook
Struggles hard to procure it's release.

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And now, when the hufbandman fings harveft-home,
And the corn's all got into the house;

When the long wifh'd-for time of their meeting is come,
To frolick, and feaft, and caroufe:

When the leaves from the trees are begun to be shed,
And are leaving the branches all bare,

Either ftrew'd at the roots, fhrivell'd, wither'd, and dead,
Or elfe blown to and fro in the air:

When the ways are fo miry, that bogs they might feem,
And the axle-tree's ready to break,

While the waggoner whiftles in ftopping his team,
And then claps the poor jades on the neck:

In the morning let's follow the cry of the hounds,
Or the fearful young covey befet;

Which tho' kulking in stubble and weeds on the grounds,
Are becoming a prey to the net.

Let's enjoy all the pleasure retirement affords,
Still amus'd with these innocent sports,

Nor once envy the pomp of fine ladies and lords,
With their grand entertainments in courts.

In the ev'ning, when lovers are leaning on ftyles,


Deep engag'd in fome amorous chat,

And 'tis very well known by his grin and her smiles,
What they both have a mind to be at:

To our dwelling, tho' homely, well-pleas'd to repair,
Let our mutual endearments revive;

And let no fingle action or look but declare,

How contented and happy we live..


Should ideas arise that may ruffle the foul,

Let soft mufick the phantoms remove; For 'tis harmony only has force to controul, And unite all the paffions in love.

With her eyes but half open, her cap all
When the lafs is preparing for bed,


And the fleepy dull clown, who fits nodding juft by
Sometimes roufes and fcratches his head:

In the night when 'tis cloudy, and rainy, and dark,
And the labourers fnore as they lie,

Not a noise to difturb us, unless a dog bark
In the farm, or the village hard by:

At the time of fweet reft, and of quiet like this,
Ere our eyes are clos'd up in their lids,

Let us welcome the season, and taste of that bliss
Which the fun-fhine and day-light forbids!


WHEN the trees are all bare, not a leaf to be feen,

And the meadows their beauty have loft ;

When Nature's difrob'd of her mantle of green,
And the ftreams are faft bound with the froft :

While the peafant inactive stands fhivering with cold,
As bleak the winds northernly blow;

And the innocent flocks run for warmth to the fold,
With their fleeces befprinkled with fnow :

In the yard, when the cattle are fodder'd with ftraw,
And they fend forth their breath in a steam;
And the neat-looking dairy-maid fees fhe muft thaw
Flakes of ice that she finds in the cream:


When the sweet country-maiden, as fresh as a rofe, As fhe carelessly trips often flides,

And the rufticks laugh loud, if by falling fhe fhows All the charms that her modesty hides:

When the lads and the laffes for company join'd,
In a crowd round the embers are met,

Talk of fairies and witches that ride on the wind,
And of ghofts, till they're all in a sweat:

Heav'n grant, in this feafon, it may be my lot,
With the nymph whom I love and admire ;
While the icicles hang from the eaves of my cot,
I may thither in fafety retire!

Where in neatnefs and quiet-and free from furprize,
We may live, and no hardships endure;
Nor feel any turbulent paffions arife,

But fuch as each other may cure!





N vain, dear Flavilla, in vain ftill you try,
Inconftant, each feminine art:

Thofe flutt'ring delufions may catch the fond eye,
But they ne'er will entangle the heart.

The fetters too fiender affection to bind

Our reafon will break with difdain:

The heart that to beauty it's freedom refign'd,
From caprice fhall receive it again.

While down the light dance, in Pleasure's gay court,

Fantaftick you trip it along;

The faireft allow'd; where the fair ones refort,
The gayeft of all the gay throng;

O why in that face, where each beauty is seen,
Should Folly her standard difplay?
Or wild Affectation disfigure that mien,
Where the Graces confpicuously play?

Ah, no! to your greater perfections be just ;
By these you may charm at your will:

To youth, wit, and beauty, your conquefts entrust,
Which levity only can kill.

For pleasure in vain the inconftant may rove
Thro' all the wide regions of art:

Their happiness only can permanent prove,
Whose transports arife from the heart.

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