They pleased at first, and then the habit grew,
Till the fond heart no higher pleasure knew;
Till, from all cares and other comforts freed,
Th’ important nothing took in life the lead. 
   With all his phlegm, it broke a Dutchman’s heart,
At a vast price, with one loved root to part;
And toys like these fill many a British mind,
Although their hearts are found of firmer kind. 
   Oft have I smiled the happy pride to see
Of humble tradesmen, in their evening glee;
When of some pleasing fancied good possess’d,
Each grew alert, was busy, and was bless’d: 
Whether the call-bird yield the hour’s delight,
Or, magnified in microscope the mite;
Or whether tumblers, croppers, carriers seize
The gentle mind, they rule it and they please. 
   There is my friend the Weaver:  strong desires
Reign in his breast; ’tis beauty he admires: 
See! to the shady grove he wings his way,
And feels in hope the raptures of the day —
Eager he looks:  and soon, to glad his eyes,
From the sweet bower, by nature form’d, arise
Bright troops of virgin moths and fresh-born butterflies;
Who broke that morning from their half-year’s sleep,
To fly o’er flowers where they were wont to creep. 
   Above the sovereign oak, a sovereign skims,
The purple Emp’ror, strong in wing and limbs: 
There fair Camilla takes her flight serene,
Adonis blue, and Paphia silver-queen;
With every filmy fly from mead or bower,
And hungry Sphinx who threads the honey’d flower;
She o’er the Larkspur’s bed, where sweets abound. 
Views ev’ry bell, and hums th’ approving sound;
Poised on her busy plumes, with feeling nice
She draws from every flower, nor tries a floret twice. 
   He fears no bailiff’s wrath, no baron’s blame,
His is untax’d and undisputed game: 
Nor less the place of curious plant he knows;
He both his Flora and his Fauna shows;
For him is blooming in its rich array
The glorious flower which bore the palm away;
In vain a rival tried his utmost art,
His was the prize, and joy o’erflow’d his heart. 
   “This, this! is beauty; cast, I pray, your eyes
On this my glory! see the grace! the size! 
Was ever stem so tall, so stout, so strong,
Exact in breadth, in just proportion long? 
These brilliant hues are all distinct and clean,
No kindred tint, no blending streaks between: 
This is no shaded, run-off, pin-eyed thing;
A king of flowers, a flower for England’s king: 
I own my pride, and thank the favouring star
Which shed such beauty on my fair Bizarre.” 
   Thus may the poor the cheap indulgence seize,
While the most wealthy pine and pray for ease;
Content not always waits upon success,
And more may he enjoy who profits less. 
   Walter and William took (their father dead)
Jointly the trade to which they both were bred;
When fix’d, they married, and they quickly found