As nearer to his Farm you made Approach,
He polish'd Nature with a finer Hand:
Yet on her Beauties durst not Art incroach;
'Tis Art's alone these Beauties to expand.
In graceful Dance immingled, o'er the Land,
and  play'd:
Even here, sometimes, the rude wild Common fand
An happy Place; where free, and unafraid,
Amid the flowering Brakes each coyer Creature stray'd.