And though they did profufely wealth bestow,
They gave thee the true ufe of wealth to know.
Could ev'n the nurse wish for her darling boy
A happiness which thou dost not enjoy :
What can her fond ambition ask beyond
A foul by wifdom's nobleft precepts crown'd?
To this fair fpeech, and happy utterance join'd,
T'unlock the fecret treasures of the mind,
And make the bleffing common to mankind.
On these let health and reputation wait,
The favour of the virtuous and the great:
A table chearfully and cleanly fpread,
Stranger alike to riot and to need:
Such an estate as no extremes may know,
A free and juft difdain for all things elfe below.
Amidst uncertain hopes, and anxious cares,
Tumultuous ftrife, and miferable fears,
Prepare for all events thy conftant breast,
And let each day be to thee as thy last.
That morning's dawn will with new pleasure rise,
Whofe light fhall unexpected bless thy eyes.
Me, when to town in winter you repair,
Battening in ease you 'll find, fleek, fresh, and fair;
Me, who have learn'd from Epicurus' lore,
To fnatch the bleffings of the flying hour,
Whom every Friday at the Vine* you 'll find
His true difciple, and your faithful friend.
WHILE rich in brighteft red the blushing Rose
Her
Her fresheft opening beauties did disclose;
Her, the rough Thistle from a neighbouring field,
With fond defires and lover's eyes beheld:
Straight the fierce plant lays by his pointed darts,
And wooes the gentle flower with softer arts.
Kindly he heard, and did his flame approve,
And own'd the warrior worthy of her love.
Flora, whofe happy laws the feafons guide,
Who does in fields and painted meads prefide,
And crowns the gardens with their flowery pride,
With pleasure faw the wishing pair combine,
To favour what their Goddess did design,
And bid them in eternal Union join.
Henceforth, she said, in each returning year,
One ftem the Thistle and the Rofe fhall bear :
The Thistle's lafting grace, thou, O my Rose! shalt be,
The warlike Thistle's arms, a fure defence to thee.
DONE FROM THE LATIN OF J. GERHARD *.
ANY that once, by Fortune's bounty rear'd, Amidst the wealthy and the great appear'd; Haye wifely from those envy'd heights declin'd, Have funk to that just level of mankind, Where nor too little nor too much gives the true peace of mind.
* In his Meditationes Sacræ.
THE HAPPINESS OF THE SAINTS IN HEAVEN.
DONE FROM THE LATIN OF J. GERHARD.
'N that blefs'd day, from every part, the juft,
Rais'd from the liquid deep or mouldering duft, The various products of Time's fruitful womb, All of paft ages, prefent and to come,
In full affembly fhall at once refort,
And meet within high heaven's capacious court:
There famous names rever'd in days of old,
Our great forefathers there we shall behold,
From whom old ftocks and ancestry began,
And worthily in long fucceffion ran;
The reverend fires with pleasure shall we greet,
Attentive hear, while faithful they repeat
Full many a virtuous deed, and many a noble feat.
There all thofe tender ties, which here below,
Or kindred, or more facred friendship know,
Firm, constant, and unchangeable shall grow.
Refin'd from paflion, and the dregs of sense,
A better, truer, dearer love from thence,
Its everlasting Being shall commence :
There, like their days, their joys fhall ne'er be done,
No night shall rise, to shade heaven's glorious fun,
But one eternal holy-day go on.
TO THE TUNE OF GRIM KING OF THE GHOSTS.
ESPAIRING befide a clear stream,
A fhepherd forfaken was laid;
And while a false nymph was his theme,
A willow fupported his head.
The wind that blew over the plain,
To his fighs with a figh did reply;
And the brook, in return to his pain,
Ran mournfully murmuring by.
Alas, filly swain that I was !
Thus fadly complaining, he cry'd,
When firft I beheld that fair face,
'Twere better by far I had dy'd.
She talk'd, and I blefs'd the dear tongue;
When fhe fimil'd, 'twas a pleasure too great.
I liften'd, and cry'd, when she sung,
Was nightingale ever so sweet?
How foolish was I to believe
She could doat on fo lowly a clown,
Or that her fond heart would not grieve,
To forfake the fine folk of the town?
To think that a beauty fo gay,
So kind and fo conftant would prove.;
Or go clad like our maidens in gray,
Or live in a cottage on love?
What though I have fkill to complain,
Though the Mufes my temples have crown'd;
What though, when they hear my soft strain,
The virgins fit weeping around.
Ah, Colin, thy hopes are in vain,
Thy pipe and thy laurel resign;
Thy falfe-one inclines to a swain,
Whofe mufic is fweeter than thine.
And you, my companions fo dear,
Who forrow to fee me betray'd,
Whatever I fuffer, forbear,
Forbear to accufe the falfe maid.
Though through the wide world I should range, 'Tis in vain from my fortune to fly, 'Twas hers to be falfe and to change, 'Tis mine to be conftant and die.
If while my hard fate I sustain,
In her breast any pity is found,
Let her come with the nymphs of the plain,
And fee me laid low in the ground.
The laft humble boon that I crave,
Is to fhade me with cyprefs and yew; And when the looks down on my grave, Let her own that her fhepherd was true,
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