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The public scene

Of harden'd men

Teach me, O teach me to despise !
The world few know

But to their woe,

Our crimes with our experience rise;

All tender sense

Is banish'd thence,

All maiden nature's first alarms

What shock'd before

Disgust no more,

And what disgusted has its charms.

In landscapes green

True bliss is seen,

With innocence, in shades, she sports; In wealthy towns

Proud labour frowns,

And painted sorrow smiles in courts.

These scenes untried

Seduc'd my pride,

To fortune's arrows bar'd my breast;

Till wisdom came,

A hoary dame!

And told me pleasure was in rest.

"O may I steal

Along the vale

Of humble life, secure from foes!

My friend sincere !

My judgment clear!

And gentle business my repose!

"My mind be strong
To combat wrong!

Grateful, O king! for favours shown!
Soft to complain

For others' pain!

And bold to triumph o'er my own!

"(When fortune's kind)

Acute to find,

And warm to relish every boon!
And wise to still

Fantastic ill,

Whose frightful spectres stalk at noon!

"No fruitless toils!

No brainless broils!

Each moment levell'd at the mark!

Our day so short

Invites to sport;

Be sad and solemn when 'tis dark.

"Yet, prudence, still

Rein thou my will!

What's most important, make most dear!

For 'tis in this

Resides true bliss;

True bliss, a deity severe !

"When temper leans

To gayer scenes,

And serious life void moments spares,
The sylvan chase

My sinews brace!

Or song unbend my mind from cares !

"Nor shun, my soul!

The genial bowl,

Where mirth, good nature, spirit, flow! Ingredients these,

Above, to please

The laughing gods, the wise, below.

"Though rich the vine,

More wit than wine,

More sense than wit, good-will than art, May I provide!

Fair truth, my pride!

My joy, the converse of the heart!

"The gloomy brow,

The broken vow,

To distant climes, ye gods! remove!
The nobly soul'd

Their commerce hold

With words of truth and looks of love!

"O glorious aim!
O wealth supreme!

Divine benevolence of soul !

That greatly glows,
And freely flows,

And in one blessing grasps the whole;

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"Unhurt my urn!

Till that great turn

When mighty nature's self shall die!

Time cease to glide,

With human pride,

Sunk in the ocean of eternity."

183

A PARAPHRASE ON PART OF THE
BOOK OF JOB.*

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THOMAS LORD PARKER, BARON OF
MACCLESFIELD, LORD HIGH CHANCELLOR OF GREAT

MY LORD,

BRITAIN, ETC. ETC.

THOUGH I have not the honour of being known to your lordship, I presume to take a privilege which men of retirement are apt to think themselves in possession of, as being the only method they have of making their way to persons of your lordship's high station without struggling through multitudes for access. I may possibly fail in my respect to your lordship, even while I endeavour to show it most; but if I err, it is because I imagined I ought not to make my first approach to one of your lordship's exalted character with less ceremony than that of a dedication. It is annexed to the condition of eminent merit, not to suffer more from the malice of its enemies, than from the importunity of its admirers; and per

* It is disputed amongst the critics who was the author of the book of Job; some give it to Moses, some to others. As I was engaged in this little performance, some arguments occurred to me which favour the former of those opinions; which arguments I have flung into the following notes, where little else is to be expected.

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