On Mr. B—'s Garden.

To Mrs. S—.

To your Commands I own Obedience due,
 And fain wou'd paint this fair inchanting View;
 A Palace, Centre of the Garden, stands,
 No common Structure rear'd by vulgar Hands;
 But shews a Master's Skill, a Work complete,
 And speaks the Founder's Name, and Fortune great. 
The stately Front commands th'admiring View;
 Grand its Design, and its Proportion true. 
No costly Folly, no expensive Waste;
 Strong, but not heavy; noble, but not vast;
 Finish'd with Judgment, furnish'd with a Taste. 
Vain my Attempt to paint the charming Scenes,
 The Park, the Grove, the Terras, and the Greens;
 Fountains, Canals, Cascades from tow'ring Slopes;
 The grand Variety confound my Hopes:
 Here Art o'er Nature shews a noble Pride,
 With Beauty clothes the barren Mountain's Side. 
The Planter's Skill the nodding Forests show,
 Where scarce a Shrub was ever known to grow. 
From Summer's Heat the Hills provide a Shade,
 In Winter Shelter, when cold Winds invade. 
Yet what were these but empty, all in vain
 To ease an aking Heart, or Head in Pain;
 Did Envy or Ambition rack the Breast,
 The Day wou'd yield no Joy, the Night no Rest;
 One Vice indulg'd wou'd cast a Gloom around,
 Cloud all the Prospect, poison all the Ground. 
But here true Happiness is understood,
 The noble manly Joy of doing Good;
 Here sterling Truth, calm Temperance, and Love
 Lead from these pleasing Scenes to those above,
 To nobler Structures built by Hands divine,
 Where Suns unclouded o'er the Prospect shine;
 Where Mildews blast not, nor chill Frosts annoy,
 No Rains can rot, nor eating Worms destroy. 
Within these Walls such Happiness resides;
 Thus Fame reports. — What can they wish besides? 
The Poor shall bless them, all the Wise shall hail,
 And Heav'n approve; their Joys can never fail. 
Late may they peaceful to their Graves descend,
 And Heav'n to all their Offspring prove a Friend!