Alexander Pope

Our rural ancestors with little blest,
Patient of labour when the end was rest,
Indulg'd the day read more

Our rural ancestors with little blest,
Patient of labour when the end was rest,
Indulg'd the day that hous'd their annual grain,
With feasts, and off'rings, and a thankful strain.

. . . th' approach of night
The skies yet blushing with departing light,
When falling dews read more

. . . th' approach of night
The skies yet blushing with departing light,
When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade,
And the low sun had lengthen'd ev'ry shade.

In death a hero, as in life a friend!.

In death a hero, as in life a friend!.

'Tis strange the miser should his cares employ
To gain those riches he can ne'er enjoy;
Is read more

'Tis strange the miser should his cares employ
To gain those riches he can ne'er enjoy;
Is it less strange the prodigal should waste
His wealth to purchase what he ne'er can taste?

The hungry judges soon the sentence sign,
And wretches hang that jurymen may dine.

The hungry judges soon the sentence sign,
And wretches hang that jurymen may dine.