James Thomson (1)

In ancient times, the sacred Plough employ'd
The Kings and awful Fathers of mankind:
And some, with read more

In ancient times, the sacred Plough employ'd
The Kings and awful Fathers of mankind:
And some, with whom compared your insect-tribes
Are but the beings of a summer's day,
Have held the Scale of Empire, ruled the Storm
Of mighty War; then, with victorious hand,
Disdaining little delicacies, seized
The Plough, and, greatly independent, scorned
All the vile stores corruption can bestow.

Their only labour was to kill the time;
And labour dire it is, and weary woe,
They read more

Their only labour was to kill the time;
And labour dire it is, and weary woe,
They sit, they loll, turn o'er some idle rhyme,
Then, rising sudden, to the glass they go,
Or saunter forth, with tottering steps and slow.

Her polish'd limbs,
Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire;
Beyond the pomp of dress; for read more

Her polish'd limbs,
Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire;
Beyond the pomp of dress; for Loveliness
Needs not the foreign aid of ornament,
But is, when unadorn'd the most.

If the husband once give way
To his wife's capricious sway,
For his breeches he next day
read more

If the husband once give way
To his wife's capricious sway,
For his breeches he next day
May go to whoop and holloa.

But through the heart
Should Jealousy its venom once diffuse,
'Tis then delightful misery no more,
read more

But through the heart
Should Jealousy its venom once diffuse,
'Tis then delightful misery no more,
But agony unmix'd, incessant gall,
Corroding every thought, and blasting all
Love's paradise.