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The barren Wife; and long demurring Maid,
Whose lonley unappropriated sweets
Smil'd like yon knot of cowslips on the cliff,
Not to be come at by the willing hand.
Here are the Prude severe, and gay Coquet,
The sober Widow, and the young green Virgin,
Cropp'd like a rose, before 'tis fully blown,
Or half its worth disclos'd—strange medley here!
Here garrulous Old Age winds up his tale;
And jovial Youth of lightsome vacant heart,
Whose ev'ry day was made of melody,
Hears not the voice of mirth:—The shill-tongu'd Shrew,
Meek as the turtle-dove, forgets her chiding.
Here are the wise, the generous, and the brave;
The just, the good, the worthless, the profane,
The down right clown, and perfectly well-bred;
The fool, the churl, the scoundrel and the mean,
The subtle statesman, and the patriot stern;
The wreck of Nations and the spoils of time,
With all the lumber of six thousand years.

Poor Man—how happy once in thy first state!
When yet but warm from thy great Maker's hand
He stamp'd thee with his image, and well pleas'd
Smil'd on his last fair work. Then all was well.
Sound was the body, and the soul serene;
Like two sweet instruments, ne'er out of tune,
That play their several parts—Nor head, nor heart,
Offer to ache:—Nor was there cause they should;
For all was pure within:—No fell remorse,
For anxious castings-up of what might be,
Alarm'd his peaceful bosom:—Summer seas
Shew not more smooth when kiss'd by southern winds
Just ready to expire.—Scarce importun'd
The generous soil, with a luxurious hand,
Offer'd the various produce of the year,
And ev'ry thing most perfect in its kind.