Not waste it; and aware that human life

Is but a loan to be repaid with use,

When He shall call his debtors to account

From whom are all our blessings; bus'ness finds
Ev'n here: while sedulous I seek t' improve,
At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd,
The mind he gave me; driving it, though slack
Too oft, and much impeded in its work

By causes not to be divulg'd in vain,

To its just point-the service of mankind.
He that attends to his interior self,

That has a heart, and keeps it; has a mind

That hungers, and supplies it; and who seeks A social, not a dissipated life;

Has business; feels himself engag'd t' achieve

No unimportant, though a silent, task.

A life all turbulence and noise may seem,
To him that leads it, wise, and to be prais'd;
But wisdom is a pearl with most success
Sought in still water, and beneath clear skies.

I.Stothard Del.

Published Feb. 1798, by KJohnson, London.

LB.Drayton Sculp

where he enjoys,

With her who shares his pleasurisiz, his heart,

Swed converse

He that is ever occupied in storms,

Or dives not for it, or brings up instead,
Vainly industrious, a disgraceful prize.

The morning finds the self-sequester'd man Fresh for his task, intend what task he may. Whether inclement seasons recommend

His warm but simple home, where he enjoys, With her who shares his pleasures and his heart, Sweet converse, sipping calm the fragrant lymph Which neatly she prepares; then to his book, Well chosen, and not sullenly perus'd

In selfish silence, but imparted oft

As aught occurs that she may smile to hear,
Or turn to nourishment, digested well.

Or, if the garden with its many cares,

All well repaid, demand him, he attends

The welcome call, conscious how much the hand

Of lubbard labour needs his watchful eye,

Oft loit'ring lazily, if not o'erseen,

Or misapplying his unskilful strength.

Nor does he govern only or direct,

But much performs himself. No works indeed
That ask robust rough sinews, bred to toil,
Servile employ; but such as may amuse,
Not tire, demanding rather skill than force.
Proud of his well-spread walls, he views his trees
That meet (no barren interval between)

With pleasure more than ev'n their fruits afford,
Which, save himself who trains them, none can feel:
These, therefore, are his own peculiar charge;
No meaner hand may discipline the shoots,
None but his steel approach them. What is weak,
Distemper'd, or has lost prolific pow'rs,
Impair'd by age, his unrelenting hand

Dooms to the knife: nor does he spare the soft
And succulent, that feeds its giant growth,
But barren, at th' expence of neighb'ring twigs
Less ostentatious, and yet studded thick

With hopeful gems. The rest, no portion left