HAPPY the man who his whole time doth bound Within the enclosure of his little ground. Happy the man whom the same humble place (The hereditary cottage of his race) From his first rising infancy has known, And by degrees sees gently bending down, With natural propension to that earth Which both preserved his life, and gave him birth. Him no false distant lights by fortune set, Could ever into foolish wanderings get. He never dangers either saw, or feared, The dreadful storms at sea he never heard. He never heard the shrill alarms of war, Or the worse noises of the lawyers’ bar. No change of consuls marks to him the year, The change of seasons is his calendar. The cold and heat winter and summer shows, Autumn by fruits, and spring by flowers he knows. He measures time by landmarks, and has found For the whole day the dial of his ground. A neighbouring wood born with himself he sees, And loves his old contemporary trees. Has only heard of near Verona’s name, And knows it, like the Indies, but by fame. Does with a like concernment notice take Of the Red Sea, and of Benacus lake. Thus health and strength he to a third age enjoys, And sees a long posterity of boys. About the spacious world let other roam, The voyage Life is longest made at home. THE SHORTNESS OF LIFE AND UNCERTAINTY OF RICHES. IF you should see a man who were to cross from Dover to Calais, run about very busy and solicitous, and trouble himself many weeks before in making provisions for the voyage, would you commend him for a cautious and discreet person, or laugh at him for a timorous and impertinent coxcomb? A man who is excessive in his pains and diligence, and who consumes the greatest part of his time in furnishing the remainder with all conveniences and even superfluities, is to angels and wise men no less ridiculous; he does as little consider the shortness of his passage that he might proportion his cares accordingly. It is, alas, so narrow a strait betwixt the womb and the grave, that it might be called the _Pas de Vie_, as well as the _Pas de Calais_. We are all ἐφήμειροι as _Pindar_ calls us, creatures of a day, and therefore our Saviour bounds our desires to that little space; as if it were very probable that every day should be our last, we are taught to demand even bread for no longer a time. The sun ought not to set upon our covetousness; no more than upon our anger; but as to God Almighty a thousand years are as one day, so, in direct opposition, one day to the covetous man is as a thousand years, _tam brevi fortis jaculatur ævo multa_, so far he shoots beyond his butt. One would think he were of the opinion of the _Millenaries_, and hoped for so long a reign upon earth. The patriarchs before the flood, who enjoyed almost such a life, made, we are sure, less stores for the maintaining of it; they who lived nine hundred years scarcely