AVARO, A TALE by THOMAS WARTON THE ELDER

FAST by the @3Trent@1 (whose Gods this Fable tell)
A Knight in cooly Shades chose once to dwell;
Secure, in what his prosp'rous Vices gain'd,
Each Morn he vaunting view'd his Length of Land,
His Hills of silver Chalk, his Vales of golden Sand.

As on a Time, he lost his early Hounds
Far from the Musick of the choral Sounds;
Sudden he views some Shepherd's straw-built Cell,
Rich in a Barn, a Hen-roost, and a Well;
Then eye's the Swain, as to his Flock he calls,
And whistling lures 'em from their hurdl'd Walls;
Obedient to the Tune they trot along
And careful single out their plaintive Young;
With shorter Trips these bound upon the Plain,
Start at the Knight——but play around their Swain.
Their Swain observ'd how free they liv'd from Want,
And wish'd himself from them could learn Content:
In vain: a thousand Cares promote his Grief,
So, (hailing first the Knight) he ask'd Relief:
In vain; the Knight (tho' hail'd) refus'd to grant,
And thought no Swain would condescend to want;
Then told how well the rural Life was known,
The rural Life preferring to his own;
How oft himself would range a-down the Hill,
And snuff the new-built Hay-cocks strawb'ry Smell,
Well pleas'd to hear their Jests the drolling Rusticks tell.

Nor less would'tend the Weanlings, when they play,
And how himself was once the King of @3May;@1
Then when the Swain but beg'd his present Aid,
Lest Ills unseen his wint'ry Age invade,
Courage! (said he) like Stars like Fate assign,
Thy Life shall still from Want be free as mine.

Unweeting Knight! he mourns his flying Bliss:
All as @3Polycrates@1 his Fate was his!
For Heav'n averse rebuk'd such boastful Pride,
And where he once the lowly Swain deny'd,
Himself (alas the while!) begs now to be supply'd!

So hard another's Want will win Belief!
So Pride foretels we ne'er can need Relief!

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