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And suffocates the breath at ev'ry turn.

820

Profusion breeds them; and the cause itself
Of that calamitous mischief has been found:
Found too where most offensive, in the skirts
Of the rob'd pedagogue! Else let th' arraign'd
Stand up unconscious, and refute the charge.
So, when the Jewish leader stretch'd his arm,
And wav'd his rod divine, a race obscene,
Spawn'd in the muddy beds of Nile, came forth,
Polluting Egypt: gardens, fields, and plains,
Were cover'd with the pest; the streets were fill'd;
The croaking nuisance lurk'd in ev'ry nook;
Nor palaces, nor even chambers, 'scap'd:

And the land stank-so nuin'rous was the fry. 832

THE TASK.

BOOK III.

Self-recollection, and reproof.—Address to domestic happiness.-Some account of myself.-The vanity of many of their pursuits, who are reputed wise.-Justification of my censures.-Dicine illumination necessary to the most expert philosopher.—The question, What is truth? answered by other questions.-Domestic happiness addressed again. - Few lovers of the country.—My tame hare.-Occupations of a retired gentleman in his garden.-Pruning.—Framing.-Greenhouse.-Sowing of flower seeds.-The country preferable to the town even in the winter.-Reasons why it is deserted at that season.-Ruinous effects of gaming and of expensive improvement.-Book concludes with an apostrophe to the metropolis.

THE TASK.

As

BOOK III.

THE GARDEN.

one, who long in thickets and in brakes Entangled winds now this way and now that

His devious course uncertain, seeking home;
Or, having long in miry ways been foil'd
And sore discomfited, from slough to slough
Plunging and half-despairing of escape;

If chance at length he find a greensward smooth
And faithful to the foot, his spirits rise,

He cherups brisk his car-erecting steed,

And winds his way with pleasure and with case; So I, designing other themes, and call'd

T'adorn the Sofa with eulogium due,

To tell it's slumbers, and to paint it's dreams,

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Have rambled wide. In country, city, seat
Of academic fame (howe'er deserv'd,)

Long held, and scarcely disengag'd at last.
But now with pleasant pace a cleanlier road
I mean to tread. I feel myself at large,

Courageous and refresh'd for future toil,
If toil await me, or if dangers new.

Since pulpits fail, and sounding 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, enamour'd of sequester'd scenes,
And charm'd with rural beauty, to repose,

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Where chance may throw me beneath elm or vine, My languid limbs, when summer scars the plains;

Or, when rough winter rages, on the soft

And shelter'd Sofa, while the nitrous air

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