Then exercise thy strugling Steers to ploughBetwixt thy Vines, and teach thy feeble RowTo mount on Reeds, and Wands, and, upward led,On Ashen Poles to raise their forky Head.On these new Crutches let them learn to walk,Till swerving upwards, with a stronger Stalk,They brave the Winds, and, clinging to their GuOn tops of Elms at length triumphant ride.But in their tender Nonage, while they spreadTheir Springing Leafs, and lift their Infant Head,And upward while they shoot in open Air,Indulge their Child-hood, and the Nurseling spare.Nor exercise thy Rage on new-born Life,But let thy Hand supply the Pruning-knife;And crop luxuriant Straglers, nor be loathTo strip the Branches of their leafy Growth:But when the rooted Vines, with steady Hold,Can clasp their Elms, then Husbandman be boldTo lop the disobedient Boughs, that stray'dBeyond their Ranks: let crooked Steel invadeThe lawless Troops, which Discipline disclaim,And their superfluous Growth with Rigour tame.Next, fenc'd with Hedges and deep Ditches round,Exclude th' incroaching Cattle from thy Ground,While yet the tender Gems but just appear,Unable to sustain th' uncertain Year;Whose Leaves are not alone foul Winter's Prey,But oft by Summer Suns are scorch'd away;And worse than both, become th' unworthy BrowzeOf Buffal'os, salt Goats, and hungry Cows.For not December's Frost that burns the Boughs,Nor Dog-days parching Heat that splits the Rocks,Are half so harmful as the greedy Flocks:Their venom'd Bite, and Scars indented on the Stocks.0