Lives by contriving delicates for you)

Grudge not the coft.. Ye little know the cares,
The vigilance, the labour, and the skill,
That day and night are exercis'd, and hang
Upon the ticklish balance of fufpenfe,

That ye may garnifh your profufe regales

With fummer fruits brought forth by wintry funs.
Ten thousand dangers lie in wait to thwart

The procefs. Heat and cold, and wind, and fteam,
Moisture and drought, mice, worms, and fwarming flies,
Minute as duft, and numberless, oft work

Dire disappointment, that admits no cure,
And which no care can obviate. It were long,
Too long, to tell th' expedients and the fhifts
Which he that fights a feafon fo fevere
Devifes, while he guards his tender truft;
And oft, at last, in vain. The learn'd and wife
Sarcaftic would exclaim, and judge the fong
Cold as its theme, and, like its theme, the fruit
Of too much labour, worthlefs when produc'd.

Who loves a garden loves a green-house too.
Unconscious of a lefs propitious clime,
There blooms exotic beauty, warm and fnug,
While the winds whistle and the fnows defcend,
The fpiry myrtle with unwith'ring leaf

Shines there and flourishes. The golden boast
Of Portugal and western India there,
The ruddier orange, and the paler lime,

Peep through their polifh'd foliage at the storm,
And seem to fmile at what they need not fear.
Th' amomum there with intermingling flow'rs
And cherries hangs their twigs. Geranium boasts
Her crimson honours, and the fpangled beau,
Ficoides, glitters bright the winter long.

All plants, of ev'ry leaf, that can endure

The winter's frown, if screen'd from his fhrewd bite,
Live there, and profper. Those Aufonia elaims,
Levantine regions thefe; th' Azores fend

Their jeffamine, her jaffamine remote
Caffraia: foreigners from many lands,
They form one focial fhade, as if conven'd
By magic fummons of th' Orphean lyre.
Yet just arrangement, rarely brought to pass
But by a mafter's hand, difpofing well
The gay diverfities of leaf and flow'r,

Muft lend its aid t' illustrate all their charms,
And drefs the regular yet various scene.
Plant behind plant afpiring, in the van
The dwarfish, in the rear retir'd, but still
Sublime above the rest, the statelier stand.
So once were rang'd the fons of ancient Rome,
A noble fhow! while Rofcius trod the stage;

And fo, while Garrick, as renown'd as he, The fons of Albion; fearing each to lofe Some note of nature's mufic from his lips, And covetous of Shakespeare's beauty, feen In ev'ry flash of his far-beaming eye. Nor tafte alone and well-contriv'd display Suffice to give the marshall'd ranks the grace Of their complete effect. Much yet remains Unfung, and many cares are yet behind, And more laborious; cares on which depend Their vigour, injur'd foon, not foon restor❜d. The foil must be renew'd, which, often wash'd, Lofes its treasure of falubrious falts,

And difappoints the roots; the flender roots
Clofe interwoven, where they meet the vase,
Muft fmooth be fhorn away; the fapless branch
Must fly before the knife; the wither'd leaf
Must be detach'd, and where it strews the floor
Swept with a woman's neatnefs, breeding elfe
Contagion, and diffeminating death.

Discharge but thefe kind offices, (and who
Vould fpare, that loves them, offices like these?)
Vell they reward the toil. The fight is pleas'd,
The fcent regal'd, each odorif'rous leaf,
Cach op'ning bloffom, freely breathes abroad
Es gratitude, and thanks him with its fweets.

So manifold, all pleasing in their kind, All healthful, are th' employs of rural life, Reiterated as the wheel of time

Runs round; ftill ending, and beginning fill.
Nor are these all. To deck the shapely knoll,
That, foftly fwell'd and gaily drefs'd, appears
A flow'ry ifland, from the dark-green lawn
Emerging, must be deem'd a labour due
To no mean hand, and afks the touch of tafte.
Here alfo grateful mixture of well-match'd
And forted hues, (each giving each relief,
And by contrafted beauty fhining more)

Is needful. Strength may wield the pond'rous fpado
May turn the clod, and wheel the compoft home;
But elegance, chief grace the garden fhows,

And most attractive, is the fair result

Of thought, the creature of a polish'd mind.
Without it all is Gothic as the scene

To which th' infipid citizen reforts

Near yonder heath; where industry mif-spent,
But proud of his uncouth ill-chofen task,

Has made a heav'n on earth; with funs and moons
Of close-ramm'd ftones has charg'd th' encumber'd fo
And fairly laid the zodiac in the dust.

He, therefore, who would fee his flow'rs difpos'd Slightly, and in juft order, ere he gives

The beds the trufted treasure of their feeds,

Forecasts the future whole; that, when the fcene
Shall break into its preconceiv'd difplay,

Each for itself, and all as with one voice
Confpiring, may atteft his bright defign.
Nor ev'n then, difmiffing as perform'd
His pleasant work, may he suppose it done.
Few self-supported flow'rs endure the wind
Uninjur'd, but expect th' upholding aid
Of the fmooth-fhaven prop, and neatly tied,
Are wedded thus, like beauty to old age,
For int'reft fake, the living to the dead.
Some clothe the soil that feeds them, far diffus'd
And lowly creeping, modeft and yet fair,
Like virtue, thriving most where little feen:
Some, more afpiring, catch the neighbour fhrub
With clafping tendrils, and invest his branch,
Elfe unadorn'd, with many a gay festoon
And fragrant chaplet, recompenfing well
The strength they borrow with the grace they lend.
All hate the rank fociety of weeds,

Noisome, and ever greedy to exhaust

Th' impoverish'd earth; an over-bearing race,
That, like the multitude made faction mad,
Disturb good order, and degrade true worth.