The humble actions of the swains I sing—
How pass'd the youthful, how the old their days;
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Who sank in sloth, and who aspired to praise;
Their tempers, manners, morals, customs, arts;
What parts they had, and how they 'mploy'd their parts;
By what elated, soothed, seduced, depress'd,
Full well I know—these records give the rest.
Is there a place, save one the poet sees,
A land of love, of liberty and ease;