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The poet indeed (who, with all his cant, 

 is fometimes a truant to nature,) pays, in 

 general, very little attention to thefe rougher 

 objects of beauty. His fore-grounds are com- 

 monly adorned with the livelier tints of 

 nature ; 



ear** beauteous flower ; 

 Iris all hues, rofes, and jeflamin, 

 Crocus, and hyacinth, with rich inlay 

 Broidering the ground. 



And if he defign to fpeak of ground 



embellifhed with thefe rough piclurefque 



beauties, he difdainfully calls it a place 

 where 



-nothing teems 



But hateful docks, rough thirties, keckfies, burs, 

 Lofing both beauty, and utility. 



Of all this undergrowth I know but one 

 plant that is difagreeable ; and that is the 

 bramble. We fometimes fee it with effect, 

 fcrawling along the fragments of a rock, or 

 running among the rubbifh of a ruin ; and tho 

 it is even then a coarfe appendage, I mould not 

 wifh to remove it from landfcape. But as 

 a pendent plant it has no beauty. It does 

 not hang carelefsly, twirling round every 



fupport, 



