The mower’s hopes, nor mock the plowman’s toil:
But godlike his unwearied bounty flows;
First loves to do, then loves the good he does.
Nor are his blessings to his banks confin’d,
But free and common as the sea or wind;
When he to boast, or to disperse his stores
Full of the tributes of his greateful shores
Visits the world, and in his flying tow’rs
Brings home to us, and makes both Indies ours;
Finds wealth where ’tis, bestows it where it wants,