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OD E on
APPY the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
In his own ground.
Whose flocks fupply him with attire,
In winter fire, Bleft, who can unconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years slide soft away,
Quiet by day,
Together mix'd ; fweet recreation ;
Thus unlamented let me die,
Tell where I lie.
6 This was a very early production of our Author, written at about twelve years old,
Quit, oh quit this mortal.frame:
Oh the pain, the bliss of dying!
Steals my senses, fhuts my fight,
With founds seraphic ring :
O Death! where is thy Sting?
That most men are born with some Taste, but spoild by