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 One, that himself, unconscious, had not found, By numbers charm'd, and led away by sound; I should not fear to minister a prop, And give him stronger feet to keep it up; Teach it to run along more firm and sure; Nor would I show the wound before the cure.


 * what remains; the poet I enjoynenjoin [sic]

To form no glorious scheme, no great design, 'Till free from business he retires alone, And flies the giddy tumult of the Town; Seeks rural pleasures, and enjoys the glades, And courts the thoughtful silence of the shades, Where the fair Dryads haunt their native woods With all the orders of the sylvan Gods. Here in their soft retreats the poets lyelie [sic], Serene, and blest with cheerful poverty; No guilty schemes of wealth their souls molest, No cares, no prospects discompose their rest; No scenes of grandeur glitter in their view; Here they the joys of innocence pursue, And taste the Pleasures of the happy few. From