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ARGUMENT OF THE THIRD BOOK
hapmany of th of my cerampert phibed by oth
Self-recollection and reproof.--Address to dome
happiness.-Some account of myself.—The vah of many of their pursuits who are reputed wife. Juftification of my cenfures.-- Divine illuminati , necessary to the most expert philosopher.--The que tion, What is truth? answered by other question
– Domestic happiness addressed again. - Fer lovers of the country.—My tame hare.-Occupa iz tions of a retired gentleman in his garden.—Prun ing.–Framing.–Greenhouse.- Sowing of flower.org feeds.—The country preferable to the town even in the winter.-— Reasons why it is deserted at that. season.—Ruinous effects of gaming and of expenfive improvement.--Book concludes with an apoftrophe to the metropolis.
As one, who long in thickets and in brakes
Have rambled wide. In country, city, feat
Since pulpits fail, and founding boards reflect Most part an empty ineffectual sound, What chance that I to fame so little known, Nor conversant with men or manners much, Should speak to purpose, or with better hope Crack the satiric thong? 'Twere wiser far For me, enamoured of sequestered scenes, And charmed with rural beauty, to repose, Where chance may throw me, beneath elm or vine, My languid limbs, when summer sears the plains; Or, when rough winter rages, on the foft And sheltered Sofa, while the nitrous air Feeds a blue flame, and makes a cheerful hearth; There, undisturbed by folly, and apprized How great the danger of disturbing her, To muse in silence, or at least confine
Remarks, that gall so many, to the few
Domestic happiness, thou only bliss Of Paradise, that haft survived the fall! Though few now taste thee unimpaired and pure, Or tasting long enjoy thee! too infirm, Or too incautious, to preserve thy sweets Unmixt with drops of bitter, which neglect Or temper sheds into thy crystal cup; Thou art the nurse of virtue, in thine arms She smiles, appearing, as in truth The is, Heaven-born, and destined to the Skies again. Thou art not known where pleasure is adored, That reeling goddess with the zoneless waist And wandering eyes, still leaning on the arm Of novelty, her fickle frail support; For thou art meek and constant, hating change, And finding in the calm of truth-tried love Joys, that her stormy raptures never yield. Forsaking thee what shipwreck have we made. Of honour, dignity, and fair renown!