Not heathpout, or the rarer bird,
Which Phasis or Ionia yields,
More pleafing morfels would afford
Than the fat olives of my fields;
Than fhards or mallows for the pot,
That keep the loofen'd body found,
Or than the lamb, that falls by lot
To the juft guardian of my ground.
Amidft these feasts of happy fwains,
The jolly shepherd finiles to see
His flock returning from the plains;
The farmer is as pleas'd as he,
To view his oxen fweating smoke,
Bear on their necks the loosen'd yoke :
To look his menial crew,
That fit around his chearful hearth,
And bodies spent in toil renew
With wholesome food and country mirth. 95 This Morecraft faid within himself,
Refolv'd to leave the wicked town:
And live retir'd upon his own,
But the prevailing love of pelf, Soon fplit him on the former shelf, He put it out again.