The Miller’s Son, a foolish Boy who ran From his dull home, returned a favourite Man; And not a Daughter of the Village view’d The Handsome Youth, but Wishes would intrude. His person all that charms a vacant Eye; His Air what vacant Minds are fetter’d by; His Song enchanting, and his manners free; A dangerous youth in Village Wakes was he! To all that Nature gave in form or face He added all that Heroes gain of Grace— 10 Not all that Grace for Stanhope’s self had done, But what suffic’d to raise the Miller’s Son; To make him first, where many a Youth was seen, Th’ accomplish’d Chesterfield of Stanton Green. The good old Father blest his lucky Lot And all his Darling’s early Sins forgot; These “youthful Follies” he was pleas’d to call, And fondly prais’d the feasted prodigal. He ask’d no Questions: where the youth had gain’d } What pleas’d so many and what some had pain’d; 20} He saw not—thought not—if the Soul were stain’d; } Vice was not written on the front, nor where Those Locks appeared so carelessly with Care. He saw him sprightly, active, ardent, brave, Nor found in one so free his passions’ Slave; Knew not the daring Wishes he obey’d, The Friend deluded and the ruin’d Maid; Knew not the Sums the absent Hero spent, What means acquir’d them, or for what they went; None saw in him, so form’d [midst men] to shine, 30 The Wretch whom Sin compell’d to herd with Swine. Yet in that Person there were some who found The hidden Scars of many a former Wound— Not gain’d by Valour’s Chance in noble Wars, But vulgar Signs and ignominious Scars. And there were some, whose hint of grosser kind, Or true or false, betray’d the Envious Mind. It could not be but Youth so gay and vain Should strive the loveliest of her Sex to gain; And sure it added Spur to the pursuit, 40 When the fair prize was called forbidden fruit. There are who feel a triumph with the Joy, When their Success another’s peace destroy; When they Contrition with Desire impart And break a Contract, while they win a heart. The greatest pleasures that the Vicious know From a large mixture of Injustice flow; Before the jaded Sinner drinks it up, There must be fire and poison in the Cup. A mutual pleasure lulls the Wretch to sleep; 50 He loves th’ Enjoyment, where his Victims weep; Who, fond yet wretched, with indignant Eyes Spell Rage with Love, and when they bless, despise; Who both their Weakness and their Virtue prove, And scorn the Lover, while they yield to Love. Our Hero in the Army learn’d some Skill, Where he had past a kind of twofold Drill: First, in the Field, where he for War was train’d, And in the Tent, where he Assurance gain’d; Knowledge of Life, and Life’s superior Bliss, 60 And Soldiers’ Comforts in a World like this. When first the Youth address’d the Village Maid,