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Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride
Takes up a space that many poor supplied-
Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds,
Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds;
The robe that wraps his limbs in silken cloth
Has robb'd the neighbouring fields of half their growth;
His seat, where solitary sports are seen,

Indignant spurns the cottage from the green;
Around the world each needful product flies,
For all the luxuries the world supplies:
While thus the land adorn'd for pleasure-all
In barren splendour feebly waits the fall.

281

As some fair female, unadorn'd and plain, Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, Slights every borrow'd charm that dress supplies, Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyesBut when those charms are pass'd, for charms are frail,

When time advances, and when lovers fail

She then shines forth, solicitous to bless,

In all the glaring impotence of dress.
Thus fares the land, by luxury betray'd:

In nature's simplest charms at first array'd

But verging to decline, its splendours rise,
Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise ;

290

While, scourg'd by famine, from the smiling land
The mournful peasant leads his humble band-
And while he sinks, without one arm to save,
The country blooms a garden, and a grave.

300

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lf to some common's fenceless limits stray'd
He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade,
Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide,
And even the bare-worn common is denied.

If to the city sped—what waits him there?
To see profusion that he must not share;
To see ten thousand baneful arts combin'd
To pamper luxury, and thin mankind;

To see those joys the sons of pleasure know,
Extorted from his fellow-creatures' woe:
Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade,
There the pale artist plies the sickly trade;

320

Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps display,
There the black gibbet glooms beside the way.
The dome where pleasure holds her midnight reign,
Here, richly deck'd, admits the gorgeous train—
Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square,
The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare.
Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy;
Sure these denote one universal joy!

Are these thy serious thoughts?-ah! turn thine eyes,
Where the poor houseless shivering female lies.

She once, perhaps, in village plenty bless'd,

Has wept at tales of innocence distress'd

Her modest looks the cottage might adorn,
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn;

Now lost to all-her friends, her virtue fled,

330

Near her betrayer's door she lays her head

And, pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from the shower,

With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour

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