Page:Virgil's Pastorals, Georgics and Aeneis - Dryden (1709) - volume 1.pdf/350

178 Roul'd from the Rock: His flabby Flanks decrease; His Eyes are settled in a stupid peace. His bulk too weighty for his Thighs is grown; And his unweildy Neck, hangs drooping down. Now what avails his well-deserving Toil To turn the Glebe; or smooth the rugged Soil! And yet he never supt in solemn State, Nor undigested Feasts did urge his Fate; Nor day, to Night, luxuriously did joyn; Nor surfeited on rich Campanian Wine. Simple his Bev'rage; homely was his Food; The wholsom Herbage, and the running Flood: No dreadful Dreams awak'd him with affright; His Pains by Day, secur'd his Rest by Night. Twas then that Buffalo's, ill pair'd, were seen To draw the Carr of Jove's Imperial Queen For want of Oxen: and the lab'ring Swain Scratch'd with a Rake, a Furrow for his Grain: And cover'd, with his hand, the shallow Seed again. He Yokes himself, and up the Hilly height, With his own Shoulders, draws the Waggon's weight. The nightly Wolf, that round th' Enclosure proul'd To leap the Fence; now plots not on the Fold. Tam'd with a sharper Pain. The fearful Doe And flying Stag, amidst the Grey-Hounds go: And round the Dwellings roam of Man, their fiercer Foe. The scaly Nations of the Sea profound, Like Shipwreck'd Carcasses are driv'n aground: