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Receding wide, they pressed against the ribs,
And bruised the side, and, elevated high,
Taught the raised shoulders to invade the ears.
Long time elapsed or ever our rugged sires
Complained; though incommodiously pent in,
And ill at ease behind. The ladies first.
'Gan murmur, as became the softer sex.
Ingenious fancy, never better pleased:

Than when employed to accommodate the fair,
Heard the sweet moan with pity, and devised
The soft settee; one elbow at each end,
And in the midst an elbow it received,
United yet divided, twain at once.

So sit two kings of Brentford on one throne;
And so two citizens who take the air,

Close packed, and smiling, in a chaise and one,
But relaxation of the languid frame,

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By soft recumbency of outstretched limbs,
Was bliss reserved for happier days. So slow
The growth of what is excellent; so hard
To attain perfection, in this nether world.
Thus first necessity invented stools,
Convenience next suggested elbow-chairs,
And luxury, the accomplished SOFA last.

The nurse sleeps sweetly, hired to watch the sick,
Whom snoring she disturbs. As sweetly, he,
Who quits the coach-box at the midnight hour
To sleep within the carriage more secure,
His legs depending at the open door.
Sweet sleep enjoys the curate in his desk;

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The tedious rector drawling over his head;;
And sweet the clerk below. But neither sleep
Of lazy nurse, who suores the sick man dead,
Nor his, who quits the box at midnight hour
To slumber in the carriage more secure,
Nor sleep enjoyed by curate in his desk,
Nor yet the dozings of the clerk, are sweet,
Compared with the repose the sora yields.
Oh may I live exempted (while I live
Guiltless of pampered appetite obscene)
From pangs arthritic, that infest the toe
Of libertine excess. The SOFA suits
The gouty limb, 'tis true; but gouty limb,
Though on a SOFA, may I never feel:
For I have loved the rural walk through lanes
Of grassy swarth, close cropt by nibbling sheep,
And skirted thick with intertexture firm

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Of thorny boughs; have loved the rural walk Over hills, through vallies, and by rivers' brink, Ever since a truant boy I passed my bounds To enjoy a ramble on the banks of Thames; And still remember, nor without regret Of hours, that sorrow since has much endeared, How oft, my slice of pocket store consumed, Still hungering, pennyless, and far from home, I fed on scarlet hips and stony haws 64 Or blushing crabs, or berries, that imboss The bramble, black as jet, or sloes austere. such as boyish appetite Disdains not; nor the palate, undepraved

Hard fare! buc

By culinary arts, unsavory deems.
No SOFA then awaited my return;
Nor SOFA then I needed. Youth repairs
His wasted spirits quickly, by long toil
Incurring short fatigue; and, though our years,
As life declines, speed rapidly away,
And not a year but pilfers as he goes

Some youthful grace, that age would gladly keep;
A tooth or auburn lock, and by degrees

Their length and colour from the locks they spare;
The elastic spring of an unwearied foot,

That mounts the style with ease, or leaps the fence,
That play of lungs, inhaling and again
Respiring freely the fresh air, that makes.
Swift pace or steep ascent no toil to me,
Mine have not pilfered yet; nor yet impaired
My relish of fair prospect; scenes that soothed
I find.
Or charmed me young, no longer young, I
Still soothing, and of power to charm me still.
And witness, dear companion of my walks,
Whose arm this twentieth winter I perceive
Fast locked in mine, with pleasure such as love,
Confirmed by long experience of thy worth
And well-tried virtues, could alone inspire-
Witness a joy that thou hast doubled long.
Thou knowest my praise of nature most sincere,
And that my raptures are not conjured up
To serve occasions of poetic pomp,
But genuine, and art partner of them all.
How oft upon yon eminence our pace

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Has slackened to a pause, and we have borne The ruffling wind, scarce conscious that it blew, While admiration feeding at the eye,

And still unsated, dwelt upon the scene.

Thence with what pleasure have we just discerned
The distant plough slow moving, and beside
His labouring team, that swerved not from the track,
The sturdy swain diminished to a boy!:
Here Ouse, slow winding through a level plain ́
Of spacious meads with cattle sprinkled over,
Conduct's the eye along his sinuous course
Delighted. There, fast rooted in their bank,
Stand, never overlooked, our favourite elms,
That screen the herdsman's solitary hut;
While far beyond, and overthwart the stream
That, as with molten glass, inlays the vale,"
The sloping land recedes into the clouds;
Displaying on its varied side the grace

Of hedge-row beauties numberless, square tower,
Tall spire, from which the sound of cheerful bells
Just undulates upon the listening ear,
Groves, heaths, and smoking villages, remote.
Scene's must be beautiful, which daily viewed
Please daily, and whose novelty survives
Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years.
Praise justly due to those that I describe.

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Nor rural fights alone, but rural sounds, Exhilarate the spirit, and restore

The tone of languid Nature. Mighty winds, That sweep the skirt of some far-spreading wood

Of ancient growth, make music not unlike.
The dash of ocean on his winding shore,
And lull the spirit while they fill the mind;
Unnumbered branches waving in the blast,
And all their leaves fast fluttering, all at once.
Nor less composure waits upon the roar
Of distant floods, or on the softer voice

Of neighbouring fountain, or of rills that slip
Through the cleft rock, and, chiming as they fall
Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length
In matted grass, that with a livelier green
Betrays the secret of their silent course.
Nature inanimate employs sweet, sounds,
But animated nature sweeter still,

To soothe and satisfy the human ear.

Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one
The five long night: nor these alone, whose notes
Nice fingered art must emulate in vain,
But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime
In still repeated circles, screaming loud,
The jay, the pie, and even the boding owl,
That hails the rising moon, have charms for me.
Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh,.
Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns,
And only there, please highly for their sake.

Peace to the artist, whose ingenious thought
Devised the weather-house, that useful toy!
Fearless of humid air and gathering rains,
Forth steps the man-an einblem of myself!
More delicate his timorous mate retires,

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