And, thro’ the maze of conversation, trace 150
Whate’er amuses or improves the mind.
Sometimes at eve (for I delight to taste
The native zest and flavour of the fruit,
Where sense grows wild, and takes of no manure)
The decent, honest, chearful husbandman 155
Should drown his labours in my friendly bowl;
And at my table find himself at home.
Whate’er you study, in whate’er you sweat,
Indulge your taste. Some love the manly foils;