From the soft Shades, and from the balmy Sweets
Of Medford 's flow'ry Vales, and green Retreats,
Your absent Delia to her Father sends
And prays to see him 'ere the Summer ends.

Now while the Earth's with beauteous Verdure dy'd,
And Flora paints the Meads in all her Pride;
While laden Trees Pomonia 's Bounty own,
And Ceres Treasures do the Fields adorn.
From the thick Smokes, and noisy Town , O come,
And in these Plains a while forget your Home.

Tho' my small Incomes never can afford,
Like wealthy Celsus to regale a Lord;
No Ivory Tables groan beneath the Weight
Of sumptuous Dishes, serv'd in massy Plate:
The Forest ne'r was search'd for Food for me,
Nor from my Hounds the timerous Hare does flee:
No leaden Thunder strikes the Fowl in Air,
Nor from my Shaft the winged Death do fear:
With silken Nets I ne're the Lake despoil,
Nor with my Bait the larger Fish beguile.
No luscious Sweet-Meats, by my Servants plac'd
In curious Order, 'ere my Table grac'd:
To please the Taste, no rich Burgundian Wine,
In chrystal Glasses on my Side-board shine;
The luscious Sweets of fair Canaries Isle
Ne'r fill'd my Casks, nor in my Flaggons smile:
No Wine, but what does from my Apples flow,
My frugal House on any can bestow:
Except when Caesar 's Birth-day does return,
And joyful Fires throughout the Village burn;
Then moderate each takes his chearful Glass,
And our good Wishes to Augustus pass.

But tho' rich Dainties never spread my Board,
Nor my cool Vaults Calabrian Wines afford;
Yet what is neat and wholesome I can spread,
My good fat Bacon, and our homely Bread,
With which my healthful Family is fed.
Milk from the Cow, and Butter newly churn'd,
And new fresh Cheese, with Curds and Cream just turn'd.
For a Desert upon my Table's seen
The Golden Apple, and the Melon green;
The blushing Peech and glossy Plumb there lies,
And with the Mandrake tempt your Hands and Eyes.

This I can give, and if you'l here repair,
To slake your Thirst a Cask of Autumn Beer ,
Reserv'd on purpose for your drinking here.

Under the Spreading Elms our Limbs we'll lay,
While fragrant Zephires round our Temples play.
Retir'd from Courts, and Crouds, secure we'll set,
And freely feed upon our Country Treat.
No noisy Faction here shall dare intrude,
Or once disturb our peaceful Solitude.

No stately Beds my humble Roofs adorn
Of costly Purple, by carv'd Panthers born.
Nor can I boast Arabia 's rich Perfumes,
Diffusing Odours thro' out stately Rooms.
For me no fair Egyptian plies the Loam,
But my fine Linnen all is made at Home.
Tho' I no Down or Tapestry can spread,
A clean soft Pillow shall support your Head,
Fill'd with the Wool from off my tender Sheep,
On which with Ease and Safety you may sleep.
The Nightingale shall lull You to your Rest,
And all be calm and still as is your Breast.