We love not loaded boards, and goblets crown'd,
But free from furfeits our repofe is found.
When old Fabricius to the Samnites went,
Ambaffador, from Rome to Pyrrhus fent,
He heard a grave philofopher maintain,
That all the actions of our life were vain,
Which with our sense of pleasure not confpir'd;
Fabricius the philofopher defir'd,

That he to Pyrrhus would that maxim teach,
And to the Samnites the fame doctrine preach;
Then of their conqueft he fhould doubt no more,
Whom their own pleasures overcame before.
Now into ruftic matters I must fall,

Which pleasure seems to me the chief of all.
Age no impediment to those can give,
Who wifely by the rules of nature live.
Earth (though our mother) chearfully obeys
All the commands her race upon her lays.
For whatfoever from our hand she takes,
Greater or lefs, a vaft return fhe makes.
Nor am I only pleas'd with that refource,
But with her ways, her method, and her force,
The feed her bofom (by the plough made fit)
Receives, where kindly fhe embraces it,

Which, with her genuine warmth diffus'd and spread,
Sends forth betimes a green and tender head,
Then gives it motion, life, and nourishment,

Which from the root through nerves and veins are fent,
Streight in a hollow fheath upright it grows,
And, form receiving, doth itself disclose :

Drawn

Drawn up in ranks and files, the bearded spikes
Guard it from birds, as with a stand of pikes.
When of the vine I fpeak, I seem inspir'd,
And with delight, as with her juice, am fir'd;
At nature's god-like power I stand amaz'd,
Which fuch vaft bodies hath from atoms rais'd.
The kernel of a grape, the fig's fmall grain,
Can cloath a mountain, and o'ershade a plain :
But thou, dear vine, forbid'ft me to be long,
Although thy trunk be neither large nor strong,
Nor can thy head (not helpt) itself sublime,
Yet, like a ferpent, a tall tree can climb;
Whate'er thy many fingers can entwine,
Proves thy fupport, and all its strength is thine.
Though nature gave not legs, it gave thee hands,
By which thy prop the proudest cedar stands :
As thou haft hands, fo hath thy offspring wings,
And to the highest part of mortals springs.
But left thou should'st consume thy wealth in vain,
And starve thyself to feed a numerous train,
Or like the bee (fweet as thy blood) defign'd
To be destroy'd to propagate his kind,
Left thy redundant and fuperfluous juice
Should fading leaves instead of fruits produce,

The pruner's hand, with letting blood, muft quench
Thy heat, and thy exuberant parts retrench:

Then from the joints of thy prolific stem

A fwelling knot is raised (call'd a gem),

Whence, in fhort space, itself the clufter fhows,

And from earth's moisture mixt with fun-beams grows.

I' th' fpring, like youth, it yields an acid taste,
But fummer doth, like age, the sourness waste;
Then cloath'd with leaves, from heat and cold fecure,
Like virgins, fweet, and beauteous, when mature.
On fruits, flowers, herbs, and plants, I long could dwell,
At once to please my eye, my tafte, my smell;
My walks of trees, all planted by my hand,
Like children of my own begetting ftand.
To tell the feveral natures of each earth,

What fruits from each most properly take birth :
And with what arts to enrich every mold,

The dry to moiften, and to warm the cold.
But when we graft, or buds inoculate,
Nature by art we nobly meliorate ;

As Orpheus' music wildest beafts did tame,
From the four crab the fweetest apple came :
The mother to the daughter goes to school,
The fpecies changed, doth her laws o'er-rule;
Nature herself doth from herself depart,
(Strange tranfmigration) by the power of art.
How little things give law to great! we fee
The fmall bud captivates the greatest trec.
Here even the power divine we imitate,

And feem not to beget, but to create.

Much was I pleas'd with fowls and beafts, the tame
For food and profit, and the wild for game.

Excufe me when this pleasant ftring I touch,
(For age, of what delights it, fpeaks too much.)
Who twice victorious Pyrrhus conquered,
The Sabines and the Samnites captive led,

Great

Great Curius, his remaining days did fpend,
And in this happy life his triumphs end.
My farm ftands near, and when I there retire,
His and that age's temper I admire :

The Samnites chiefs, as by his fire he fate.
With a vast sum of gold on him did wait;
Return, faid he, your gold I nothing weigh,
When those, who can command it, me obey:
This my affertion proves, he may be old,
And yet not fordid, who refufes gold.
In fummer to fit ftill, or walk, I love,
Near a cool fountain, or a fhady grove.
What can in winter render more delight,
Than the high fun at noon, and fire at night?
While our old friends and neighbours feast and play,
And with their harmless mirth turn night to day,
Unpurchas'd plenty our full tables loads,

And part of what they lent, return t' our gods.
That honour and authority which dwells
With age, all pleasures of our youth excels.
Obferve, that I that age have only prais'd
Whofe pillars were on youth's foundations rais'd,
And that (for which I great applause receiv'd)
As a true maxim hath been fince believ'd.
That most unhappy age great pity needs,
Which to defend itself new matter pleads;
Not from grey hairs authority doth flow,
Nor from bald heads, nor from a wrinkled brow,
But our past life, when virtuously spent,
Muft to our age those happy fruits prefent.

Those things to age most honourable are,
Which easy, common, and but light appear,
Salutes, confulting, compliment, resort,
Crouding attendance to, and from the court:
And not on Rome alone this honour waits,
But on all civil and well-govern'd states.
Lyfander pleading in his city's praise,
From thence his strongest argument did raise,
That Sparta did with honour age support,
Paying them just respect at stage, and court.
But at proud Athens youth did age out-face,
Nor at the plays would rife, or give them place.
When an Athenian stranger of great age
Arriv'd at Sparta, climbing up the stage,
To him the whole affembly rofe, and ran
To place and ease this old and reverend man,
Who thus his thanks returns, Th' Athenians know
What's to be done; but what they know, not do.
Here our great fenate's orders I may quote,
The first in age is still the first in vote.

Nor honour, nor high birth, nor great command
In competition with great years may stand.

Why should our youth's short tranfient pleasures dare
With age's lafting honours to compare ?

On the world's ftage, when our applause grows high,
For acting here life's tragic-comedy,

The lookers-on will fay we act not well,
Unless the last the former scenes excel :
But age is froward, uneasy, scrutinous,
Hard to be pleas'd, and parfimonious;

But