For folded flocks, and fruitful plains, The shepherd's and the farmer's gains, Fair Britain all the world outvies; And Pan, as in Arcadia, reigns Where pleasure mix'd with profit lies. Tho' Jason's fleece was fam'd of old, The British wool is growing gold; No mines can more of wealth supply, It keeps the peasants from the cold, And takes for kings the Tyrian dye.