"Twas here the poets were inspir'd,

Here taught the multitude;

The brave they here with honour fir'd,
And civiliz'd the rude.

That golden age did entertain
No paffion but of love;

The thoughts of ruling and of gain
Did ne'er their fancies move.

None then did envy neighbours wealth,
Nor plot to wrong his bed:
Happy in friendship and in health,
On roots, not beafts, they fed.

They knew no law nor phyfic then,
Nature was all their wit:

And if there yet remain to men
Content, fure this is it.

What bleffings doth this world afford

To tempt or bribe defire?

Her courtship is all fire and fword,

Then welcome, deareft folitude,

My great felicity;

Though fame are pleas'd to call thee rude,

Thou art not fo, but we.

Them that do covet only reft,

A cottage will fuffice:

It is not brave to be poffeft Of earth, but to defpife. 5

Opinion

Opinion is the rate of things,

From hence our peace doth flow; I have a better fate than kings, Because I think it fo.

When all the stormy world doth roar
How unconcern'd am I?

I cannot fear to tumble lower
Who never could be high.

Secure in these unenvied walls
I think not on the state,
And pity no mans cafe that falls
From his ambitious height.

Silence and innocence are fafe;
A heart that's only true
At all these little arts can laugh
That do the world fubdue.

While others revel it in state,
Here I'll contented fit,
And think I have as good a fate
As wealth and pomp admit.

Let fome in courtship take delight,
And to th' Exchange refort;
Then revel out a winters night,
Not making love but sport.

These never knew a noble flame,
'Tis luft, fcorn, or defign:
While vanity plays all their game,

Let

VOL. II.

peace and honour mine.

H

When

When the inviting fpring appears,

To Hyde-park let them go,
And, hafting thence, be full of fears

To lofe Spring garden fhow.

Let others, nobler, feek to gain
In knowlege happy fate,
And others bufy them in vain
To ftudy ways of ftate.

But I, refolved from within,
Confirmed from without,

In privacy intend to fpin
My future minutes out.

And from this hermitage of mine
I banish all wild toys,

And nothing that is not divine

Shall dare to tempt my joys.

There are below but two things good,
Friendship and honefty,

And only thofe of all I would
Afk for felicity.

In this retir'd and humble feat,

Free from both war and ftrife, I am not forc'd to make retreat, But chufe to spend my life.

SONG

SONG XVI.

A MORAL THOUGHT.

BY DR. HAWKES WORTH.

THR

HROUGH groves fequefter'd, dark, and still,
Low vales, and moffy cells among,

In filent paths the careless rill,
Which languid murmurs, fteals along.

Awhile it plays with circling fweep,

And lingering leaves its native plain, Then pours impetuous down the fteep, And mingles with the boundless main.

O let my years thus devious glide,

Through filent scenes obfcurely calm,
Nor wealth nor ftrife pollute the tide,
Nor honours fanguinary palm.

When labour tires, and pleasure palls,
Still let the ftream untroubled be,
As down the steep of age it falls,
And mingles with eternity.

G

BY MR. CHRISTOPHER SMART.

ODDESS of eafe, leave Lethes brink,
Obfequious to the Muse and me;

For once endure the pain to think,

O fweet Infenfibility!

Sifter of Peace and Indolence,

Bring mufe, bring numbers foft and flow; Elaborately void of sense,

And sweetly thoughtlefs let them flow.

Near to fome cowflip-painted mead,
There let me dofe out the dull hours;
And under me let Flora fpread
A fofa of the fofteft flowers.

Where, Philomel, your notes you breathe,
Forth from behind the neighb'ring pine;
While murmurs of the ftream beneath
Still flow in unifon with thine.

For thee, o Idlenefs! the woes

Of life we patiently endure;

Thou art the fource whence labour flows,
We fhun thee but to make thee fure.

For who'd sustain wars toil and waste,
Or who th' hoarfe thund'ring of the fea,
But to be idle at the laft,

And find a pleafing end in thee?

SONG XVIII.

ROM the court to the cottage convey me away,

FRO

For I'm weary of grandeur, and what they call gay:

Where pride without measure,

And pomp without pleasure,

Make life in a circle of hurry decay.

Far