Sir Edward Tracy was a valiant Man, Who served in Flanders under Good Queen Anne; Was wounded there, and in his pleasant seat Found a fair Dame that made Retirement sweet. There he enjoy’d a life of social Ease, And died before its vital Spirits freeze. He left a pensive, mild, domestic heir, 70 Pleas’d to improve his Mansion and repair; The small Improvements in his farms to make, And rustic bliss to foster and partake. He was a man who never in his Life, For Joy or Business, left his charming wife; To all her failings, if she had them, blind, He saw her faultless, and he felt her kind. With undirected, unaspiring Views, He scorn’d Oppression, but he took his Dues; For rural Works he shew’d some trifling Skill, 80} And little prone to either Good or ill. } His Heart was kind, but cool; his Passions right, but still. } He, with a feeble spark of Glory warm’d, Wish’d his sole Boy to be with Study charm’d; Wish’d him that Honour he had fail’d to gain, And hail’d the Labour that was not in vain. He liv’d, the Honour of his spotless Line, Fram’d in the Senate and the Bar to shine; But, unambitious at an early Age, He buried all the Patriot in the Sage; 90 And with his Lady, by her worth endear’d, Read what was spoken when he, once, was heard. She, form’d in Courts to shine, was pleas’d to shun A thousand Lovers, to be blest with one; And bade adieu without a single Sigh To Passion’s Language and to Flattery’s Eye. He, like his Fathers, left an only Boy, Ere dawning Reason spurn’d the childish Toy; Pleas’d to reflect [the] Mother’s years were few, Her Temper perfect, and her Judgment true; 100 That she would train him, good herself and wise, All that was base and wicked to despise; The Strength of Rebell Passions to defeat, } Life’s Cares and Sorrows with firm Soul to meet, } And from the Flatterer’s Voice indignant to retreat. } She train’d him thus, and early was he known To seek her pleasure and disguise his own; Yet, if her fondness could a failing spy, His youthful Spirits were too strong and high. She found, or fear’d, intemperate Love of Joy 110 And would correct what else might Time destroy. Yet hard the Task, to Mothers doubly hard, O’er the light Heart to keep incessant Guard; Still she against his buoyant Spirit strove, Who smil’d at Duty, but bow’d down to Love. This is our Hero, a fond Widow’s Son, Rich, of high spirits, and just twenty-one; Yet [most] for Learning fam’d, and, tho’ untried, His native Courage not a Soul denied. For, tho’ the Tracys were so well belov’d, 120 Their real Courage was but seldom prov’d; Yet never Tracy was by Honour call’d Who fled the Summons or who look’d appall’d. The timid parent, when the Son would cry “To breathe is Joy, to live is Extacy; To feel this pleasure ever strong and new,