Far from the giddy town’s tumultuous strife, Their wishes yet have never learn’d to stray; Content and happy in a single life, They keep the noiseless tenor of their way, Ev’n now, their books from cobwebs to protect, Inclos’d by doors of glass, in Doric style, On fluted pillars rais’d, with bronzes deck’d, They claim the passing tribute of a smile. Oft are the authors’ names, tho’ richly bound, Mis-spelt by blundering binders’ want of care; And many a catalogue is strow’d around, To tell th’ admiring guest what books are there. For who, to thoughtless Ignorance a prey, Neglects to hold short dalliance with a book? Who there but wishes to prolong his stay, And on those cases casts a ling’ring look? Reports attract the lawyer’s parting eyes, Novels Lord Fopling and Sir Plume require; For songs and plays the voice of Beauty cries, And Sense and Nature Grandison desire. For thee, who mindful of thy lov’d compeers Dost in these lines their artless tales relate, If Chance, with prying search, in future years, Some antiquarian shall enquire thy fate, Haply some friend may shake his hoary head And say, “Each morn, unchill’d by frosts, he ran “With hose ungarter’d, o’er yon turfy bed, “To reach the chapel ere the psalms began. “There, in the arms of that lethargic chair, “Which rears its moth-devoured back so high, “At noon he quaff’d three glasses to the fair, “And por’d upon the news with curious eye. “Now by the fire, engag’d in serious talk “Or mirthful converse, would he loit’ring stand; “Then in the garden chose a sunny walk, “Or launch’d the polish’d bowl with steady hand; “One morn we miss’d him at the hour of pray’r, “Beside the fire, and on his fav’rite green; “Another came, nor yet within the chair, “Nor yet at bowls, nor chapel was he seen. “The next we heard that in a neighbouring shire, “That day to church he led a blushing bride; “A nymph, whose snowy vest and maiden fear “Improv’d her beauty while the knot was ty’d. “Now, by his patron’s bounteous care remov’d, “He roves enraptur’d thro’ the fields of Kent; “Yet, ever mindful of the place he lov’d, “Read here the letter which he lately sent.” THE LETTER. “In rural innocence secure I dwell, Alike to Fortune and to Fame unknown: Approving Conscience chears my humble cell, And social Quiet marks me for her own. Next to the blessings of Religious Truth Two gifts my endless gratitude engage; A wife――the joy and transport of my youth, Now, with a son, the comfort of my age. Seek not to draw me from this kind retreat, In loftier spheres unfit, untaught to move; Content with calm, domestic life, where meet The smiles of Friendship and the sweets of Love.” FINIS. ――――