human
And so you claim a verse of me, good friend, As from the inspiration of the place; Well then,--from pastoral trash may taste defend Your pleasant Leasowes, and the human race! The Gentle Shepherd's day has had an end, Nor even could melodious Shenstone here (False and inflated, we must all allow), Excite one glowing thought or pensive tear Unless indeed of wrath or pity now: Yet dearly can I love these tumbling hills With roughly wooded winding glens between, Set with clear trout pools link'd by gurgling rills And all so natural and calm and green, That served to enervate your Poetaster But only strengthen now their Iron Master.