Yet in expensive long contention,
We gain nor office, grant, or pension.
Why then should kinsfolk quarrel thus?
(For two of you make one of us.)
To some wise statesman let us go,
Where each his proper use may know:
He may admit two such commanders,
And make those wait who serv'd in Flanders,
Let's quarter on a great man's tongue,
A treasury lord, not Maister Y-g.
Obsequious at his high command,
Ay shall march forth to tax the land;
Impeachments No can best resist,
And Ay support the Civil list:
Ay, quick as Cæsar, wins the day,
And No, like Fabius, by delay.
Sometimes in mutual sly disguise,
Let Ay's seem No's, and No's seem Ay's;
Ay's be in courts denials meant,
And No's in bishops' give consent."
Thus Ay propos'd-and, for reply,
No, for the first time, answer'd, "Ay!"
They parted with a thousand kisses,
And fight e'er since for pay, like Swisses.
You, who the sweets of rural life have known,
Despise the' ungrateful hurry of the Town;
In Windsor-groves your easy hours employ,
And undisturb'd, yourself and Muse enjoy:
Thames listens to thy strains, and silent flows,
And no rude wind through rustling osiers blows,
While all his wondering nymphs around thee throng,
To hear the Sirens warble in thy song.
But I, who ne'er was bless'd by Fortune's hand, Nor brighten'd ploughshares in paternal land; 10 Long in the noisy Town have been immurd, Respir'd its smoke, and all its cares endur'd; Where news and politics divide mankind, And schemes of state involve the' uneasy mind; Faction embroils the world, and every tongue Is mov'd by flattery, or with scandal hung:
Friendship, for silvan shades, the palace flies,
Where all must yield to interest's dearer ties;
Each rival Machiavel with envy burns,
And honesty forsakes them all by turns;
While calumny upon each party's thrown,
Which both promote, and both alike disown.
Fatigu'd at last, a calm retreat I chose,
And sooth'd my harass'd mind with sweet repose, Where fields, and shades, and the refreshing
Inspire the silvan song, and prompt my rhyme.
My Muse shall rove through flowery meads and
And deck with Rural Sports her native strains,
And the same road ambitiously pursue,
Frequented by the Mantuan swain and you.
'Tis not that Rural Sports alone invite,
But all the grateful country breathes delight;
Here blooming Health exerts her gentle reign,
And strings the sinews of the' industrious swain,
Soon as the morning lark salutes the day,
Through dewy fields I take my frequent way,
Where I behold the farmer's early care,
In the revolving labours of the year.
When the fresh Spring in all her state is crown'd, And high luxuriant grass o'erspreads the ground, The labourer with the bending scythe is seen, 41 Shaving the surface of the waving green; Of all her native pride disrobes the land, And meads lays waste before his sweeping hand; While with the mounting sun the meadow glows, The fading herbage round he loosely throws; 46 But if some sign portend a lasting show'r, The' experienc'd swain foresees the coming hour,
His sun burnt hands the scattering fork forsake, And ruddy damsels ply the saving rake;
In rising hills the fragrant harvest grows,
And spreads along the field in equal rows. [gains,
Now when the height of Heaven bright Phœbus
And level rays cleave wide the thirsty plains,
When heifers seek the shade and cooling lake, 55
And in the middle pathway basks the snake,
O lead me, guard me from the sultry hours!
Hide me, ye Forests! in your closest bowers:
Where the tall oak his spreading arms entwines,
And with the beech a mutual shade combines; 60
Where flows the murmuring brook, inviting dreams,
Where bordering hazel overhangs the streams,
Whose rolling current winding round and round,
With frequent falls makes all the wood resound,
Upon the mossy couch my limbs I cast,
And ev'n at noon the sweets of evening taste.
Here I peruse the Mantuan's Georgic strains,
And learn the labours of Italian swains;
In every page I see new landscapes rise,
And all Hesperia opens to my eyes:
I wander o'er the various rural toil,
And know the nature of each different soil.
This waving field is gilded o'er with corn,
That, spreading trees with blushing fruit adorn;
Here I survey the purple vintage grow,
Climb round the poles, and rise in graceful row:
Now I behold the steed curvet and bound,
And paw with restless hoof the smoking ground:
The dewlapp'd bull now chafes along the plain,
While burning love ferments in every vein;
His well-arm'd front against his rival aims,
And by the dint of war his mistress claims:
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