Dismiss their cares, when they dismiss their flock,
Machines themselves, and govern'd by a clock. 625
Perhaps a father, bless'd with any brains,
Would deem it no abuse, or waste of pains,
T'improve this diet, at no great expense,
With sav'ry truth and wholesome common sense :
To lead his son, for prospects of delight,

630
To some not steep, though philosophick height,
Thence to exhihit to his wond'ring eyes
Yon circling worlds, their distance and their size,
The moons of Jove, and Saturn's belted ball,
And the harmonious order of them all ;

635 To show him in an insect or a flow'r Such microscopick proof of skill and pow'r, As, hid from ages past, God now displays, To combat atheists with in modern days; To spread the earth before him, and commend, 640 With designation of the fingers' end, Its various parts to his attentive note, Thus bringing home to him the most remote ; To teach his heart to glow with gen'rous flame, Caught from the deeds of men of ancient fame; 645 And, more than all, with commendation due, To set some living worthy in his view, Whose fair example may at once inspire A wish to copy what he must admire. Such knowledge gain'd betimes, and which appears Though solid, not too weighty for his years, 651 Sweet in itself, and not forbidding sport, When health demands it, of athletick sort, Would make him-what some lovely boys have been, And more than one, perhaps, that I have seen

655 An evidence and reprehension both Of the mere school-boy's lean and tardy growth.

Art thou a man professionally tied, With all thy faculties elsewhere applied, Too busy to intend a meaner care,

660 Than how t'enrich thyself, and next thine heir ;

Or art thou (as, though rich, perhaps thou art )
But poor in knowledge, having none t’ impart:
Behold that figure, neat, though plainly clad ;
His sprightly mingled with a shade of sad; 665
Not of a nimble tongue, though now and then
Heard to articulate like other mon;
No jester, and yet lively in discourse,
His phrase well chosen, clear, and full of force ;
And his address, if not quite French in ease, 670
Not English stiff, but frank, and form’d to please ;
Low in the world because he scorns its arts;
A man of letters, manners, morals, parts ;
Unpatronis'd, and therefore little known;
Wise for himself and his few friends alone--- 675
In him thy well-appointed proxy see,
Arm'd for a work too difficult for thee ;
Prepard by taste, by learning, and true worth,
To form thy son, to strike his genius forth;
Beneath thy roof, beneath thine eye, to prove

680
The force of discipline when back'd by love ;
To double all thy pleasure in thy child,
His mind inform’d, his morals undefil'd.
Safe under such a wing, the boy shall show
No spots contracted among grooms below,

685
Nor taint his speech with meannesses design'd
By footman Tom for witty and refin'd.
There, in his commerce with the liv'ried herd,
Lurks the contagion chiefly to be fear'd;
For since, (so fashion dictates,) all who claim 690
A higher than a mere plebeian fame,
Find it expedient, come what mischief may,
To entertain a thief or two in pay,
(And they that can afford th' expense of more,
Some half a dozen, and some half a score,) 695
Great cause occurs, to save him from a band
So sure to spoil him, and so near at hand;
A point secur d, if once he be supply'd
With some such Mentor always at his side.

710,

Are such men rare ? perhaps they would abound, 700
Were occupation easier to be found,
Were education, else so sure to fail,
Conducted on a manageable scale,
And schools, that have outliv'd all just esteem,
Exchang'd for the secure domestick scheme.- 705
But, having found him, be thou duke or earl,
Show thou hast sense enough to prize the pearl,
And, as thou wouldst th' advancement of thine heir
In all good faculties beneath his care,
Respect, as is but rational and just,
A man deem'd worthy of so dear a trust.
Despis'd by thee, what more can he expect
From youthful folly than the same neglect ?
A flat and fatal negative obtains,
That instant, upon all his future pains ;

715
His lessons tire, his mild rebukes offend,
And all th' instructions of thy son's best friend
Are a stream chok'd, or trickling to no end.
Doom him not then to solitary meals;
But recollect that he has sense, and feels;

720 And that, possessor of a soul refind, An upright heart and cultivated mind, His post not mean, his talents not unknown, He deems it hard to vegetate alone. And, if admitted at thy board he sit,

725 Account him no just mark for idle wit ; Offend not him, whom modesty restrains From repartee, with jokes that he disdains ; Much less transfix his feelings with an oath ; Nor frown, unless he vanish with the cloth. 730 And, trust me, his utility may reach To more than he is hird or bound to teach ; Much trash unutter'd, and some ills undone, Through rev'rence of the censor of thy son. But, if thy table be indeed unclean,

735 Foul with excess, and with discourse obscene,

And thou a wretch, whom, foll’wing her own plan
The world accounts an honourable man,
Because forsooth thy courage has been tried
And stood the test, perhaps on the wrong side ; 740
Though thou hadst never grace enough to prove
That any thing but vice could win thy love ;-
Or hast thou a polite, card-playing wife,
Chain'd to the routs that she frequents for life ;
Who, just when industry begins to snore,

745
Flies, wing’d with joy, to some coach-crowded door;
And thrice in every winter throngs thine own
With half the chariots and sedans in town,
Thyself meanwhile e'en shifting as thou mayst;
Not very sober though, nor very chaste ;

750 Or is thine house, though less superb thy rank, If not a scene of pleasure, a mere blank, And thou at best, and in thy sob’rest mood, A trifler, vain and empty of all good ; 11 Though mercy for thyself thou canst have none, 755 Hear Nature plead, show mercy to thy son. Sav'd from his home, where every day brings forth Some mischief fatal to his future worth, Find him a better in a distant spot,, Within some pious pastor's humble cot,

760 Where vile example, (yours I chiefly mean, The most seducing, and the oft'nest seen,) May never more be stamp'd upon his breast, Nor yet perhaps incurably impress'd. Where early rest makes early rising sure, 765 Disease or comes not, or finds easy cure Prevented much by diet neat and plain , Or, if it enter, soon starv'd out again : Where all th' attention of his faithful host, Discreetly limited to two at most,

770 May raise such fruits as shall reward his care, And not at last evaporate in air ; Where, stillness aiding study, and his mind Serene, and to his duties much inclin'd,

Not occupied in day-dreams, as at home,

775
Of pleasures past, or follies yet to come,
His virtuous toil may terminate at last
In settled habit and decided taste.
But whom do I advise ? the fashion led,
Th’incorrigibly wrong, the deaf, the dead, 780
Whom care and cool deliberation suit
Not better much than spectacles a brute ;
Who, if their sons some slight tuition share,
Deem it of no great moment whose, or where ;

Too proud t'adopt the thoughts of one unknown, 785
And much too gay t' have any of their own.
But courage, man! methought the muse replied,
Mankind are various, and the world is wide :
The ostrich, silliest of the feather'd kind,
And form'd of God without a parent's mind, 790
Commits her eggs, incautious, to the dust,
Forgetful that the foot may crush the trust ;
And, while on publick nurs’ries they rely,
Not knowing, and too oft not caring, why,
Irrational in what they thus prefer

795 No fow, that would seem wise, resemble her. But all are not alike. Thy warning voice May here and there prevent erroneous choice; And some perhaps, who, busy as they are, Yet make their progeny their dearest care, 800 (Whose hearts will ache, once told what ills may

reach Their offspring, left upon so wild a beach,) Will need no stress of argument t'enforce Th' expedience of a less advent'rous course; The rest will slight thy counsel or condemn ; 805 But they have human feelings-turn to them.

To you then, tenants of life's middle state, Securely plac'd between the small and great, Whose character, yet undebauch'd, retains Two thirds of all the virtue that remains,

810