Written at Lovere, October, 1736 If age and sickness, poverty and pain, Should each assault me with alternate plagues, I know mankind is destin'd to complain, And I submit to torment and fatigues. The pious farmer, who ne'er misses pray'rs, With patience suffers unexpected rain; He blesses Heav'n for what its bounty spares, And sees, resign'd, a crop of blighted grain. But, spite of sermons, farmers would blaspheme, If a star fell to set their thatch on flame. |
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