Book VI: Jupiter and the Farmer

Of yore, a farm had Jupiter to rent;To advertise it, Mercury was sent.The farmers, far and near,Flock'd round, the terms to hear;And, calling to their aidThe various tricks of trade,One said 'twas rash a farm to hireWhich would so much expense require;Another, that, do what you would,The farm would still be far from good.While thus, in market style, its faults were told,One of the crowd, less wise than bold,Would give so much, on this condition,That Jove would yield him altogetherThe choice and making of his weather,--That, instantly on his decision,His various crops should feel the powerOf heat or cold, of sun or shower.

Jove yields. The bargain closed, our manRains, blows, and takes the careOf all the changes of the air,On his peculiar, private plan.His nearest neighbours felt it not,And all the better was their lot.Their year was good, by grace divine;The grain was rich, and full the vine.The renter, failing altogether,The next year made quite different weather;And yet the fruit of all his laboursWas far inferior to his neighbours'.What better could he do? To HeavenHe owns at last his want of sense,And so is graciously forgiven.Hence we conclude that ProvidenceKnows better what we needThan we ourselves, indeed.