Why is our food so very sweet?
Because we earn before we eat.
Why are our wants so very few?
Because we nature's calls pursue.
Whence our complacency of mind?
Because we act our parts assign'd.
Have we incessant tasks to do?
Is not all nature busy too?

Does not the sun, with constant pace,
Persist to run his daily race?

Do not the stars, which shine so bright,
Renew their courses ev'ry night?

Does not the ox obedient bow

His patient neck, and draw the plough?
Or when did e'er the gen'rous steed,
Withhold his labour, or his speed?"

SECTION 4.

The farmer, the spaniel, and the cat; or, An envious spirit exposed: a fable.

As at his board a farmer sat,
Replenish'd by his homely treat,
His fav'rite spaniel near him stood,
And with his master shar'd the food;
The crackling bones his jaws devour'd,
His lapping tongue the trenchers scour'd:
Till, sated now, supine he lay,
And snor'd the rising fumes away.

The hungry cat, in turn drew near,
And humbly crav'd a servant's share.
Her modest worth the master knew,
And straight the fatt'ning morsel threw.

L

Enrag'd, the snarling cur awoke,
And thus with spiteful envy spoke :
"They only claim a right to eat,
Who earn by services their meat:
Me, zeal and industry inflame,

To scour the fields, and spring the game;
Or, plunged in the wintry wave,
For man the wounded bird to save.
With watchful diligence I keep,
From prowling wolves, his fleecy sheep;
At home, his midnight hours secure,
And drive the robber from the door.
For this, his breast with kindness glows;
For this, his hand the food bestows.
And shall thy indolence impart
A warmer friendship to his heart,
That thus he robs me of my due,
Το pamper such vile things as you?"

"I own," with meekness, puss replied, "Superior merit on your side;

Nor does my breast with envy swell,
To find it recompens'd so well:
Yet I, in what my nature can,

Contribute to the good of man.

Whose claws destroy the pilf'ring mouse?
Who drives the vermin from the house?
Or, watchful for the lab'ring swain,

From lurking rats secures the grain?
From hence if he rewards bestow,

Why should your heart with gall o'erflow?
Why pine my happiness to see,

Since there's enough for you and me?"

66

Thy words are just," the farmer cried ;

And spurn'd the snarler from his side.

SECTION 5.

The honest miller of Gloucestershire: written in 1796.

Of all the callings and the trades,

Which in our land abound,

The miller's is as useful sure,

As can on earth be found.

The farmer he manures the land:
Or else what corn could grow?
The ploughman cuts the furrow deep,
Ere he begins to sow.

And though no wealth he has, except
The labour of his hands;
Yet honest industry's as good

As houses or as lands.

The thrasher he is useful too,
To all who like to eat;

Unless he winnow'd well the corn,
The chaff would spoil the wheat.

But vain would be the farmer's care,
And vain the thrasher's toil;

And vain would be the ploughman's pains,
Who harrows up the soil;

In vain, without the miller's aid,
The sowing and the dressing:

Then sure an honest miller he

Must be a public blessing.

And such a miller now I make
The subject of my song :
Which though it shall be very true,
Shall not be very long.

This miller lives in Glou'stershire :

I shall not tell his name;

For those who seek the praise of God,
Desire no other fame.

In last hard winter-who forgets
The frost of ninety-five?

Then all was dismal, scarce, and dear;
And no poor man could thrive.

Then husbandry long time stood still;
And work was at a stand:

To make the matter worse, the mills
Were froz'n throughout the land.

Fast by a living stream, it was
Our miller's lot to dwell;

Which flow'd amain when others froze,

Nor ever stopp'd the mill.

The clam'rous people came from far,

This favour'd mill to find:

Both rich and poor our miller sought;

For none but he could grind.

His neighbours cried: "Now, miller, seize The time to heap up store;

Since thou of young and helpless babes

Hast got full half a score."

For folks when tempted to grow rich, By means not over-nice,

Oft make their num'rous babes a plea, To sanctify the vice.

Our miller scorn'd such counsel base; And when he ground the grain, With steadfast hand refus'd to touch Beyond his lawful gain.

"When God afflicts the land," said he, "Shall I afflict it more?

And watch for times of public wo,
Το wrong both rich and poor?

Thankful to that Almighty pow'r
Who makes my river flow,

I'll use the means he gives, to sooth
A hungry neighbour's wo.

My river flows when others freeze;
But 'tis at his command:

For rich and poor I'll grind alike;
No bribe shall stain my hand."

So all the country who had corn,
Here found their wants redress'd,

May ev'ry village in the land,

Be with such millers bless'd!

L 3