Preliminary Particulars

Sprung from a race that had long till'd the soil,And first disrobed it of its native trees,He wish'd to heir their lands, but not their toil,And thought the ploughman's life no life of ease;--"'Tis wrong (said he) these pretty hands to wound"With felling oaks, or delving in the ground:"I, who at least have forty pounds in cash"And in a country store might cut a dash,"Why should I till these barren fields (he said)"I who have learnt to cypher, write and read,"These fields that shrubs, and weeds, and brambles bear,"That pay me not, and only bring me care!"Some thoughts had he, long while, to quit the sod,In sea-port towns to try his luck in trade,But, then, their ways of living seem'd most odd--For dusty streets to leave his native shade,From grassy plats to pebbled walks removed--The more he thought of them, the less he loved:The city springs he could not drink, and stillPreferr'd the fountain near some bushy hill:And yet no splendid objects there were seen,No distant hills, in gaudy colours clad,Look where you would, the prospect was but mean,Scrub oaks, and scatter'd pines, and willows sad--Banks of a shallow river, stain'd with mud;A stream, where never swell'd the tide of flood,Nor lofty ship her topsails did unlose,Nor sailor sail'd, except in long canoes.It would have puzzled Faustus, to have told,What did attach him to this paltry spot;Where even the house he heir'd was very old,And all its outworks hardly worth a groat:Yet so it was, the fancy took his brainA country shop might here some custom gain:Whiskey, he knew, would always be in vogue,While there are country squires to take a cogue,Laces and lawns would draw each rural maid,And one must have her shawl, and one her shade.--