The eleventh ODE of the first Book of Ho race, imitated. To the Honourable TнoMAS M--RR--Y, Efq; 1. END not to Ayres-ftreet, To м, your Way, В' To Fortunetelling Dame, For Hearts or Watches gone aftray, Nor feek your Fate in vain. 2. Why hou'd you ask what fated End Kind Heav'n will beftow On you or me? What they intend Tis not for us to know. 3. If we fhall live ftill Winters more, (Which now with stormy Blast Drives British Ships on Sylla's Shore) Or this fhall be our last. What'er all-powerful Heav'n ordains The greatest Woes, the fharpeft Pains, With Claret you may cure. 5. Hope not too much, nor yet defpair About your Future State of Nor let to Morrow be your Care not a f Since That may come too late amoy Muthtok Enjoy the Hours e'er they passion now blot IW E'er we can Toaft, is gone.o: zu T On Mrs. Mt's being dangerously Ill of a Fever. W HAT fatal News invades our wretched (Ears! Is Mt fick, or is it but our Fears? What Subject now is worthy o' the Mufe? But one, alas! is left 'em for their Verfe, (Unwelcome Task!) t'adorn her mournful Herfe. What dire Events fhall we prognofticate From this fure Omen of approaching Fate? E'er Diffolution, NATURE's Stream we've read, Shall back return upon it's Fountain Head : Things we behold, this to Remembrance bring, For Lillies die, and Rofes in the Spring. That ev'n the World is, we from hence may prove, Diffolving now, at leaft the World of LOVE. Such M t is, and if she so appear Juftly, that World's approaching Fate we fear, Whofe Lights (fuch Mt's Eyes) are nigh ob (fcured, Yet burn with Fire, not ev'n to be endured By them, which ne'er 'till now they knew, And tho' 'tis they who all our Pleafures cross, Whilst Whilft they in Tears, their Vernal Show'rs employ, They weep indeed, but then they weep for Joy. Not fo the poor defpairing CUPID weeps, HE grieves indeed, and conftant Vigils keeps; At once he fans, and from rude Blafts of Air, With Wings expanded, guards the lab'ring FAIR. Blind as he is, he fees too plain his Fate, By fell Difeafe ufurp'd, beholds his Throne, But in Referve had he one Arrow still, Which Wing'd by him, cou'd make th' Ufurper feel; Difeafe, thus charm'd, wou'd make a longer Stay. Where PALLAS comes, that Enemy to LOVE; And bind the Conqueror with a Laurel-Wreath. |