11

Nature, a mother kind alike to all,

Still grants her bliss at labour’s earnest call:

With food as well the peasant is supplied

On Idria’s cliffs as Arno’s shelvy side;

And, though the rocky-crested summits frown,

These rocks, by custom, turn to beds of down.

From art, more various are the blessings sent—

sent—

Wealth, commerce, honour, liberty, content;

Yet these each other’s power so strong contest,

That either seems destructive of the rest:

Where wealth and freedom reign, contentment fails,

And honour sinks where commerce long prevails.

Hence every state, to one lov’d blessing prone,

Conforms and models life to that alone;

Each to the favourite happiness attends,

And spurns the plan that aims at other ends—

ends—

Till, carried to excess in each domain,

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