How happy a state does the Miller possess !
Who would be no greater; nor fears to be less!
On his Mill and himself, he depends for support;
Which is better than servilely cringing at Court!

What though he all dusty and whitened does go; The more he 's bepowdered, the more like a Beau! A Clown in this dress may be honester far

Than a Courtier who struts in his Garter and Star!

Though his hands are so daubed they're not fit to be seen;

The hands of his betters are not very clean!

A palm more polite may as dirtily deal;

Gold, in handling, will stick to the fingers like meal!

What if, when a pudding for dinner he lacks,
He cribs, without scruple, from other men's sacks:
In this, of right noble examples he brags;
Who borrow as freely from other men's bags!

Or should he endeavour to heap an estate;
In this he would mimic the tools of the State!
Whose aim is alone their own coffers to fill;
As all his concern 's to bring grist to his mill.

He eats when he 's hungry; he drinks when he's dry;
And down, when he 's weary, contented does lie:
Then rises up cheerful to work and to sing.
If so happy a Miller; then who'd be a King?

WHY, CELIA! should you so much strive,
Your kindling Passion to conceal ?
Your lips, though they denial give;
Yet all your actions, love reveal!

In vain you strive, in vain, alas!
The charming Passion to disguise !
It glows, it blushes, on your face;

And sparkles in your swimming eyes!

Your eyes, those emblems of the heart,
Still contradict whate'er you say:
And though your lips deny the smart;
Your eyes are more believed than they!

'TELL me, EUNESIA! prithee, tell! (For thou, I fancy, know'st me well!) Tell me, Why I, who was so gay (I laughed, I revelled, all the day!), Who life enjoyed, and feared not Fate, Why am I altered thus of late?

Tasteless are grown my former joys!
Wit is but folly; Music, noise!
So unattentive is my mind,

In crowds a solitude I find!

While all my friends are joyous seen,
Musing I sit. 'Ha! what ails BEN?'
One cries, "Tis pride!'; another, 'spleen!'
Reproached thus, I'll go read! But what?
SHAKESPEARE is lifeless! MILTON, flat!
Successive pleasures thus I try,

From thought to thought for comfort fly;
But none I find! Nothing can please!
Books and acquaintance only tease!
So restless is my soul, I own

Life is itself a burthen grown!

What means all this?

Where can it end?

Tell me, my Charmer and my friend!'

'What,' said EUNESIA, 'what means this? Are you so dull, you cannot guess?

Fly, my AMINTOR! to my arms!

(Where you've confessed a thousand charms!) Fly to my arms! You'll quickly find 'Tis absence only stings your mind! Fly to my arms! A kiss I'll give That shall your gaiety revive ; And make you own, you wish to live!'

THE MUTUAL SYMPTOMS.

'АH! who, in all those happy plains,
With COLIN may compare!

A Youth beloved of all the Swains;
Admired by all the Fair.

I think he's free from artful wiles:
For oft, with tearful eye,

He fondly looks at me, and smiles.
He does! I know not Why?

'He pressed my hand.

I blushed and sighed;

Yet hope he did not see!

And then to speak he vainly tried;

But gently sighed, like me!

Methinks, this wary breast should know

If COLIN feigned the sigh;

Yet when he 's named, it flutters so!
It does! I know now Why?

Say, gentle God! whose mighty laws
Prevail o'er Nymph and Swain;
O, shew my heart the secret cause
Of COLIN's tender pain!

Say rather, why this heart intreats
The cause of COLIN's woe!

And why it flutters! why it beats!
Alas! too well I know!'

THE END OF THE POPE ANTHOLOGY.

FIRST LINES AND NOTES.

Many of these Poems became immediately popular; and appeared in other contemporary editions than those here quoted, often with great variations in the texts.

All the Works herein quoted, were published in London; unless otherwise stated.
Where a text is found associated with music, (M.) is put after its date.