Tis pleasant then to view the nets float past,
Net after net till you have seen the last: 
And as you wait till all beyond you slip,
A boat comes gliding from an anchor’d ship,
Breaking the silence with the dipping oar,
And their own tones, as labouring for the shore;
Those measured tones which with the scene agree,
And give a sadness to serenity. 
   All scenes like these the tender Maid should shun,
Nor to a misty beach in autumn run;
Much should she guard against the evening cold,
And her slight shape with fleecy warmth infold;
This she admits, but not with so much ease
Gives up the night-walk when th’ attendants please: 
Her have I seen, pale, vapour’d through the day,
With crowded parties at the midnight play;
Faint in the morn, no powers could she exert;
At night with Pam delighted and alert;
In a small shop she’s raffled with a crowd,
Breath’d the thick air, and cough’d and laugh’d aloud;
She who will tremble if her eye explore
“The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor;”
Whom the kind doctor charged, with shaking head,
At early hour to quit the beaux for bed;
She has, contemning fear, gone down the dance,
Till she perceived the rosy morn advance;
Then has she wonder’d, fainting o’er her tea,
Her drops and julep should so useless be: 
Ah! sure her joys must ravish every sense,
Who buys a portion at such vast expense. 
   Among those joys, ’tis one at eve to sail
On the broad River with a favourite gale;
When no rough waves upon the bosom ride,
But the keel cuts, nor rises on the tide;
Safe from the stream the nearer gunwale stands,
Where playful children trail their idle hands: 
Or strive to catch long grassy leaves that float
On either side of the impeded boat;
What time the moon arising shows the mud,
A shining border to the silver flood: 
When, by her dubious light, the meanest views,
Chalk, stones, and stakes, obtain the richest hues;
And when the cattle, as they gazing stand,
Seem nobler objects than when view’d from land: 
Then anchor’d vessels in the way appear,
And sea-boys greet them as they pass—­“What cheer?”
The sleeping shell-ducks at the sound arise,
And utter loud their unharmonious cries;
Fluttering they move their weedy beds among,
Or instant diving, hide their plumeless young. 
   Along the wall, returning from the town,
The weary rustic homeward wanders down: 
Who stops and gazes at such joyous crew,
And feels his envy rising at the view;
He the light speech and laugh indignant hears,
And feels more press’d by want, more vex’d by fears. 
   Ah! go in peace, good fellow, to thine home,
Nor fancy these escape the general doom: 
Gay as they seem, be sure with them are hearts
With sorrow tried; there’s sadness in their parts: 
If thou couldst see them when they think alone,
Mirth, music, friends, and these amusements gone;