Averse to publick noise, ambition's strife,
And all the splendid ills of busy life,
Thro' latent paths, unmark'd by vulgar eye,
Are there who wish to pass unheeded by?
Whom calm retirement's sacred pleasures move,
The hour contemplative, or friend they love;
Yet not by spleen, or superstition led,
Forbear ambition's giddy heights to tread;
Who not inglorious spend their peaceful day,
Whilst science, lovely star! directs their way?
Flows there not something good from such as these?
No useful product from the men of ease?
And shall the Muse no social merit boast?
Are all her vigils to the publick lost?
Tho' noisy pride may scorn her silent toil,
Fair are the fruits which bless her happy soil:
There every plant of useful produce grows,
There science sprang, and thence instruction flows;
There true philosophy erects her school,
There plans her problem, and there forms her rule;
There every seed of every art began,
And all that eases life, and brightens man.