Without One Friend, Above All Foes, Britannia

It Chills My Blood To Hear The Blest Supreme Rudely Appealed To On Each Trifling Theme.

Where Penury Is Felt The Thought Is Chain'd, And Sweet Colloquial Pleasures Are But Few.

And Hast Thou Sworn On Every Slight Pretence, Till Perjuries Are Common As Bad Pence, While Thousands, Careless Of The Damning Sin, Kiss The Book's Outside, Who Ne'er Look'd Within?

Strength May Wield The Ponderous Spade, May Turn The Clod, And Wheel The Compost Home; But Elegance, Chief Grace The Garden Shows, And Most Attractive, Is The Fair Result Of Thought, The Creature Of A Polished Mind.

Friends, Books, A Garden, And Perhaps His Pen, Delightful Industry Enjoy'd At Home, An Nature, In Her Cultivated Trim Dress'ed To His Taste, Inviting Him Abroad - Can He Want Occupation Who Has These?