Bishop

Sweet Prince, the arts of peace are great, And no less glorious than those of war, Perhaps more glorious, in the philosophic mind. When I sit at my home, a private man, My thoughts are on my gardens and my fields, How to employ the hand that lacketh bread. If Industry is in my diocese, Religion will flourish; each man’s heart Is cultivated and will bring forth fruit: This is my private duty and my pleasure. But, as I sit in council with my prince, My thoughts take in the general good of the whole, And England is the land favoured by Commerce; For Commerce, though the child of Agriculture, Fosters his parent, who else must sweat and toil, And gain but scanty fare. Then, my dear Lord, Be England’s trade our care; and we as tradesmen, Looking to the gain of this our native land.