O fuffer me with fober tread Nor does the heiress of these shades deny Where Beauty fhines, and Friendship warm, And Honour in a female form. With them in aged groves to walk, I fhun the voice of Party loud, Where Science only feigns to dwell, Still furbelow'd in follies new. Unlike the town-dame's haughty air, As modeft Fear is ever wont: Shepherdeffes fuch of old Doric bards enamour'd told, While the pleas'd Arcadian vale But chief of Virtue's lovely train, A penfive exile on the plain, No longer active now to wield Th' avenging fword, protecting fhield, Ere yet they grew refin'd to hate The hofpitable rural feat, The fpacious hall with tenants ftor'd, Where Mirth and Plenty crown'd the board; yet their Lares they forsook, And loft the genuine British look, The conscious brow of inward merit, The rough, unbending, martial spirit, To live in city fmoaks obfcure, Where morn ne'er wakes her breezes pure, Where Where darkest midnight reigns at noon, But come, the minutes flit away, And tell me, as we tread the vale, "Here mighty Dudly once wou'd rove, "To plan his triumphs in the grove: с What rapture does my foul provoke ? An oak in Penshurst park, planted the day Sir Philip Sidney was born, of which Ben Johnson Speaks in the following manner; That taller tree, which of a nut was fet, There let me hang a garland high, That That on felect occafion rare, Thus let my feet unwearied ftray; To milk-maid chanting fhrill her lay, Gives the ear a rough good-morrow, But when the fun with fervid ray |