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as that it shows more sprightliness of treatment than the other elaborated and stilted productions, and also gives us a contrast between the Medford of 1730 and that of today. From the soft Shades and from the balmy Sweets Of Medford's flow'ry Vales, and green Retreats, Your absent Delia to her Father sends, And prays to see him 'ere the Summer ends. Now while the Earth's with beautious Verdure dy'd, And Flora paints the Meads in all her Pride; While leaden trees Pomonia's Bounty own, And Ceres' Treasures do the Fields adorn, From the thick Smokes, and noisy Town, O come, And in these Plains awhile forget your Home. Thoa my small incomes never can afford, Like wealthy Celsus, to regale a Lord; No Ivory Tables groan beneath the Weight Of sumptuous Dishes, serv'd in massy Plate; The Forest ne'er was search'd for Food for me, Nor from my Hounds the timerous Hare does flee: No leaden Thunder strikes the Fowl in Air, Nor from my Shaft the winged Death do fear. With silken Nets I ne'er t