Page:The Poems of John Dyer (1903).djvu/92

 And where the bramble, and would justly act True charity, by teaching idle Want And Vice the inclination to do good ; Good to themselves, and in themselves to all, Thro' grateful toil. Ev'n Nature lives by toil : Beast, bird, air, fire, the heav'ns, and rolling worlds, All live by action : nothing lies at rest But death and ruin : man is born to care ; Fashion'd, improv'd, by labour. This of old Wise states observing, gave that happy law Which doom'd the rich and needy, every rank, To manual occupation ; and oft call'd Their chieftains from the spade, or furrowing plough, Or bleating sheepfold. Hence utility Thro' all conditions ; hence the joys of health ; Hence strength of arm, and clear judicious thought ; Hence corn, and wine, and oil, and all in life Delectable. What simple Nature yields (And Nature does her part) are only rude Materials, cumbers on the thorny ground ; 'Tis toil that makes them wealth; that makes the Fleece (Yet useless, rising in unshapen heaps) Anon, in curious woofs of beauteous hue, A vesture usefully succinct and warm, Or, trailing in the length of graceful folds, A royal mantle. Come, ye village Nymphs ! The scattered mists reveal the dusky hills ; Gray dawn appears ; the golden Morn ascends, And paints the glitt'ring rocks, and purple woods, And flaming spires : arise, begin your toils ; Behold the Fleece beneath the spiky comb Drop its long locks, or from the mingling card Spread in soft flakes, and swell the whiten'd floor. Come, village Nymphs, ye Matrons, and ye Maids ! Receive the soft material ; with light step