Page:Virgil's Pastorals, Georgics and Aeneis - Dryden (1709) - volume 1.pdf/306

146 And Houses burn, and houshold Gods deface, To drink in Bowls which glitt'ring Gems enchase: To loll on Couches, rich with Cytron Steds, And lay their guilty Limbs in Tyrian Beds. This Wretch in Earth intombs his Golden Ore, Hov'ring and brooding on his bury'd Store. Some Patriot Fools to pop'lar Praise aspire, By Publick Speeches, which worse Fools admire. While from both Benches, with redoubl'd Sounds, Th' Applause of Lords and Commoners abounds. Some through Ambition, or thro' Thirst of Gold; Have slain their Brothers, or their Country sold: And leaving their sweet Homes, in Exile run To Lands that lye beneath another Sun. The Peasant, innocent of all these Ills, With crooked Ploughs the fertile Fallows tills; And the round Year with daily Labour fills. From hence the Country Markets are supply'd: Enough remains for houshold Charge beside; His Wife, and tender Children to sustain, And gratefully to feed his dumb deserving Train. Nor cease his Labours, till the Yellow Field A full return of bearded Harvest yield: A Crop so plenteous, as the Land to load, O'ercome the crowded Barns, and lodge on Ricks abroad. Thus ev'ry sev'ral Season is employ'd: Some spent in Toyl, and some in Ease enjoy'd.