All you who turn the sturdy soil, Or ply the loom with daily toil, And lowly on through life turmoil For scanty fare, Attend, and gather richest spoil To soothe your care. ...
When warm'd with zeal, my rustic Muse Feels fluttering fain to tell her news, And paint her simple, lowly views With all her art, And, though in genius but obtuse, May touch the heart. ...
When, Reverend Sir, your good design, To clothe our Pilgrim gravely fine, And give him gentler mien and gait, First reached my ear, his doubtful fate With dread suspense my mind oppressed,...