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When brighe in your zenith, we prostrate before ye, When ye set in a cloud, what fool will adore ye! Then, ye fair, be advised, and snatch the kind blelling, And shew your good condue by timely posselling.

Thus in a fca of doubt I'm toss'd,
Now funk, now thrown upon the coast;

What wretch can long endure
Such odd, perplexing pangs as these,
When neither mortal the disease,

Nor yet compleat the cure ? Proud tyrant ! since to save, or kill, Depends on thy capricious will,

This milder fentence give; Reverse my ftrange, untoward fate, Oh! let me perish by thy hace,

Or by thy kindness live!


THEN, my dear Cloe, you relign

One happy hour to mirth and wine,
Each glass you drink still paints your face
With some new victorious grace :
Charms in reserve my soul surprize,
And by fresh wounds your lover dies.
Who can resist thee, lovely fair !
That wit! that soft engaging air!
Each panting heart its homage pays,
And all the vassal world obeys.
God of the grape, boast now no more,
Thy triumphs on sar Indus' shore :
Each useless weapon now lay down,
Thy tigers, car, and ivy-crown ;
Give but this juice in full supplies,
Aod uuft thy fame to Cive's cyes.



THE SUPERANUATED LOVER. EAD to the soft delights of love,

Spare me, O! spare me, cruel boy; Nor seek in vain that heart to move,

Which pants no more with amorous joy. of old, thy faithful hardy swain,

(When snit with fair Pastora's charms) I serv'd thee many a long canipaign,

And wide lipread thy conquering arms. Now, mighty god, dismiss thy flave,

To feeble age let youth succeed; Recruit among the ftrong and brave,

And kindly spare an invalide. Adieu, fond hopes, fantastic cares,

Ye killing joys, ye pleafing pains ! My soul for better guests prepares,

Reason reitor'd, and virtue reigns, But why, my Cloe, tell me why?

Why trickles down this filent tear? Why do these blushes rise and die?

Why itand I mute when thou art here? Ev'n sleep affords my soul no rest,

Thce bathing in the fram 1 view; With shee I dance, with thee I feali,

Thee through the gloomy grove pursue. Triumphant God of gay defires !

Thy vaftal's ruging p..ins semove ; Iburn, Thurn, with fiercer tres,

Oh! take my life, or crown my love.

TO A DISCARDED TOAST. ELIA, confess 'tis all in vain,

To patch the ruins of thy face ; Nor of ill-natur'd Time complain,

That robs it of each blooming grace. If Love no more can bend his bow,

Nor point his arrows from thine eye, If no lac'd fop, nor feather'd beau,

Despairing at thy feet shall die : Yet still, my charmer, wit like thine

Shall triumph over age and fate; Thy fecting bcams with lustre fhine,

And rival their meridian height. Beauty, fair flower! soon fades away,

And tranfient are the joys of love ; Lut wit, and virtue, ne'er decay,

Ador'd below, and bless'd above.


HO now regards Chloris, her tears, and her

its eyes

wh ning,

Her fighe, and fond wilhes, and aukward repining! What a pother is here, with her amorous glances, Soft fragments of Ovid, and scraps of romances ! A nice prude at fifteen! and a romp in decay ! Cold December affects the sweet blossoms of May; To fawn in her dotage, and in her bloom spurnus, Is to quench love' bright corch, and with couch

wood to burn us Believe dear n aids, there's no way of evading; While ye pith, anduy nay, your roles are fading : Though your pliun durvive, your beauty will

dwindle, And our languishing embers can never rekindle.

From Horace, Epod. xv. ad Nezram.
'TWAS night, and heaven intent with all
Gaz'd on the deceitful maid ;
A thousand pretty things the said,

A thonsand artful tricks the play'd,
From me, deluded me, her fallchood to disguise,
She clafp'd me in her soft encircling arms,

She press'd her glowing check to miuc,
The cinging ivy, or the curling vine,

Did never yet fu closely twine;
Who could beman and bear the luftreof her charms!
And thus the swore: by all the powers above,

When winter llorms shallccale to roar,
When summer suns shall Mine no more,

Tihen wolies their cruelty give o'ır,
Neæra then, and not till then, hall cca.e to love:



Ah! false Neæra ! perjur'd fair ! but know,

FROM MARTIAL. Erio, xlvii.
I have a soul too great to hear
A rival's proud insulting air,

WOULD you, my friend, find out the true Another may be found as fair, [you.

receipt, As fair, ungrateful nymph! and far more just than

To live at ease, and item the tide of fate ;

The grand elixir thus you must infuse, Shouldst thou repent, and at my feet be laid,

And these ingredients to be happy chuse : Dejected, penitent, forlorn,

First an estate, not got with toil and sweat, And all thy former follies mourn,

But unincumber'd left, and free from debe : Thy proffer'd pallion I would scorn :

For let that be your dull forefather's.care, The Gods shall do me right on that devoted head. To pinch and drudge for his deserving heir ; And you, spruce sir, who insolently say, Fruitful and rich, in iand chat s found and good, Exulting, laugh at my disgrace,

That fills your barns with corn, your hearch with Boat with vain airs, and stiff grimace,

wood; Your large estate, your handfonie face, Thar cold nor hunger may your house infest, Proud of a fleeting bliss, the pageant of a day : While flames invade the skies, and pudding crowns You too fhall soon repent this haughty scorn;

the feast. When, fickle as the sea or wind,

A quiet mind, serene, and free from care, The prostitute fhali change her mind,

Nor puzzling on the bench, nor noisy at the bar; To luch another coxcomb kind; (turn.

A body found, that physick cannot mend ; then shall I clap my wings, and triumph in my

And the best physick of the mind, a friend,
Equal in birth, in humour, and in place,

Thy other seif, dittinguish'd but by face ; ba Young Lady, who spent the night in Tears, Whole sympathetic foultakes equal Mare upon a Report that her Brother was to fight a of all thy pieasure, and of all thy care. Duel the next Morning.

A moderboard, adorn'd with men of lense,

No French ragouts, nor French impertinence ; SASTORA weeps, let every lover mourn,

A merry bottle to engender wit, Her grief is no less fatal than her scorn : Not over-dos'd, but a : 212.186 .icit : hole shining orbs inflict an equal pain,

Equal the error is in each excess,
:: erfiown with tears, or pointed with disdain. Nor dulnefs less a tin than drunkenness.

Then doubts and fears invade that tender breast, A render wise disolving by thy lide,
there peace, and joy, and love ihould ever reit; Easy and chaste, free from debate and pride,
A wers depriv'd of the sun's genial ray, Each day a mistress, and each night a bride.
arthward we bend, and silently decay ;

Sleep undisturb'd, and at the dawn of day, spight of all philofophy can do,

The merry horn, that chides thy tedious itay; ur hearts relent, the bursting torrents flow, A horse that's clean, fure-footed, swift, and found, Ve leel her pains, and propagate her woe. And dogs that make the echoing clifts relound; ach mournful Muse laments the weeping fair, That sweep the dewy plains, out-fly the wind, k Graces all their comely treffis tear,

And leave domestic sorrows far behind. pre drags his wings, and droops his little head,

Pleas'd with thy present lot, nor grudging at the Ad Venus mourns as for Adonis dead.

pait, Patience, dear maid, nor without cause com Not fearing when thy time shall come, nor hoping plain,

for thy last. kavith nor those precious drops in vain ; nder the shield of your prevailing charms, our happy brother lives secure from harms,

To a GentLEMAN, who married his calt Mistress. eur bright resemblance all my rage disarms

From HORACE, Book III. Ode ix. str influence unable to withstand,

HILE I was yours, and yours alone, de conscious steel drops from iny trembling hand;

Proudand transported with your charms, w at your feet the guilty weapon lies,

I cuvy'd not the Persian throne, the loe repents, and the fond lover dies.

But reign’d more glorious in your arms. Eneas thus by men and Gods pursued, Seebie with wounds, defild with dust and blood,

B. While you were true, nor fuky fair beauty's bright Goddess interpos’d her charnis,

Had chac'd poor Bruny from your breast;

Not llia could with mie con pare, And lav'd the hopes of Troy from Grecian arms.

So fam'o, or so divinely blett.

D In Suky's arms entranc'd Ilic, reading Mathematicks.

So swectly fings the war bring fair !

For whoni moft willingly I'd nie, AIN our pursuits of knowledge, vain our care, Would rate the gentic syren spare.

The cost and labour we may juftly spare. Death from this coarse alloy regnes the mind,

B. Mc Billy burns with mutual fire, Leaves us at large t' expatiate unconfin’d;

For whom I'd dic, in whom I live,

For whom each moment I'd expire, opens to our wondering eyes, And the good man is in a moment wife.

Migliche, my better pars, survive. Vol. V.


D. Should





To Dr.


D. Should I once more my heart resign,

Would you the penitent receive ?
Would Suky scorn'd atone my crime ?

And would my Bruny own her fave? B. Though brighter he than blazing ftar,

More fickle thou than wind or sea,
With thee, my kind returning dear,

I'd live, contented die with thee.


On beds of roses lying,
Expe&ting, wishing, dying,

ī hus languish'd for her love
The Cyprian Queen of old,
As merry bards have told,

All in a myrtle grove.
In pale of mother church,
She fondly hop'd to lurch,

But, ah me! hop'd in vain ;
No doctor could be found,
Who this her case profound

Durft venture to explain.
At length a youth full smart,
Who oft by magic art

Had div'd in many a hole ;
Or kilderkin, or cun,
Or hogshead, 'twas all one,

He'd sound it with his pole.
His art, and eke his face,
So suited to her case,

Engag'd her love-lick heart;
Quoth fhe, My pretty Diver,
With thee I'll live for ever,

And from thec never part. For thee my bloom reviving, For thee fresh charms arising,

Shall melt chee into joy ;
Nor doubt, my pretty sweeting,
Ere nine months are compleating,

To see a bonny boy.
As ye have seen, no doubt,
Acandle when just out,

la fames break forth again;
So shone this widow bright,
All blazing in despight

Oi threescore years and ten.

A DAINTY NEW BALLAD. Occasioned by a Clergyman's Widow of Seventy

Years of Age, being married to a young Ex-
THERE livd in our good town,

A relict of the gown,
A chaste and humble dame ;
Who, when her man of God
Was cold as any clod,

Dropt many a tear in vain.
But now, good people, learn all,
No grief can be cternal;

Nor is it mcet, I ween,
That folks should always whimper,
There is a time to fimper,

As quickly shall be seen.
For love that little urchin,
About this widow lurching,

Had lily fix'd his dart; The silent creeping flame Boild sore in evcry vein,

And glow d about her heart.
So when a pipe we smoke,
And from the fint provoke

The sparks that twinkling play;
The touchwood old and dry
With heat begins to fry,

And gently watte away.
With art the patch'd up nature,
Reforming every feature,

kestoring every grace : To gratify her pride, She lopp'd each cranny wide,

And painted o'er her face. Nor red, nor eke the white, Was wanting to invite,

Nor coral lips that pout ; But, oh! in vain she tries, With darts to arm those eye

That dinily squint about. With order and with care, Her pyramid of hair

Sublimely mounts the sky;
And, that she might prevail,
She bolster'd up her tail,

With rumps three stories high,
With many a rich perfume,
She purify'd her room,

As there was need, no doubt ;
For on these warm occasions,
Offenlive exhalations

Are apt to fly about.


Upon the same. TME as malevolent, as old,

To blast Canidia's face,
(Which once 'twas capture to behold)

With wrinkles and disgrace.
Not fo in blooming beauty bright,

Each envying virgin's pattern,
She reign'd with undisputed right

A * priestess of St. Cattern.
Each fprightly foph, each brawny thrun,

Spent his first runnings here ;
And hoary doctors dribbling come,

To languish and despair.
Low at her feet the proftrate arts

Their humble homage pay ;
To her the tyrant of their hearts,

Each bard directs his lay.
But now, when impotent to please,

Atas ! she would be doing ;
Reverling Nature's wife decrees,

She goes herself a-wooing.

* She was bar-keeper at the Cattern-wheel in Oxford,



Biehl by my friene fikce rofy-angerod Mora,

Though brib'd with all her pelf, the swain

This moment is ours, come while ye may, Most awkardly complies ;

What's decreed by dark face Pressid to bear arms, he serves in pain,

Is not in our power, Or from his colours flies,

Since to-morrow's too late,

Take the present kind hour : So does an ivy, green when old,

With wine chear the night, as sports bless the day. And sprouting in decay; In juiceless, joyless arms infold A sapling young and gay.

A TRANSLATION of HORACE, Ep. X. The thriving plant, if better join'd,

Horace recommends a Country Life, and dissuades

his Friend from Ambition and Avarice. Would emulate the kies; šut, to that wither'd trunk confia'd,

EALTH to my friend lost in the smoky Grows fickly, pines, and dies.

From him who breathes in country air alone,

In all things else thy foul and mine are one ;

And like two aged long acquainted doves,
The same our mutual hate, the same our mutual

loves. With blushes on her face,

Clufe, and secure, you keep your lazy nest, Peeps o'er yon azure hill ;

My wandering thoughts won't let my pinions reft; Rich gems the trees enchase,

O'er rocks, seas, woods, I take my wanton flight, Pearls from each bush distil,

And each new object charms with new delight. Irise, arise, and hail the light new-born. To say no more, my friend, I live, and reign, fark! hark! the merry horn calls, come away :

Lord of myfell : I've broke the servile chain, Quit, quit thy downy bed;

Shook off with scorn the trifies you desire, Break from Amynta's arms;

All the vain empty nothings fops admire, Oh! let it ne'er be said,

Thus the lean flave of some fat pamper'd priest That all, that all her charms,

With greedy eyes at first views each luxuriant hough she's as Venus fair, can tempt thy stay.


But, quickly cloy'd, now he no more can eat trplex thy soul no more with cares below,

I heir godly viands, and their holy meat: fo: what will pelf avail !

Wisely ambitious to be free and poor, Thy courser paws the ground,

Longs for the homely scraps he loach'd before. Each beagle cocks his tail,

Seckift thou a place where nature is oblerv'd, They spend their mouths around, While health, and pleasure, smiles on every brow. To rural thades let thy calm foul retreat,

And coo'er reason may be mildly heard : Pty, kuntsmen, all the brakes, spread all the plain, Thele are th' Elysian fieids, this is the happy Now, now, fhe's gone away,

fcat, Strip, strip, with speed pursue ;

Proof against winter's cold, and summer's heat. The jocund God of day,

Here no invidious care thy peace annoys, Who fain our sport would view,

Sleep undisturb d, uninterrupted joys ; kee, see, he flogs his fiery steeds in vain.

Your marble pavements with disgrace must yield pour down, like a food from the hills, brave boys, To each finooch plain, anal gay e' amel'd field : On the wings of the wind

Your muddy aqueducts can ne'cr compare The merry beagles fly ;

With country fireams, more pure than city air ; Dull Sorrow lags behind :

Our yew and bays inclos'd in pots ye prize, Ye fhrill echoes, reply ;

And mimic little beauties we despise. Patch each flying sound, and double our joys.

The rose and woodbine marble waili fupport,

Holly and ivy deck the gaudy court : Serocks, woods, and caves, our musick repeat :

But yet in vain all shiits the arrist tries, The bright spheres thus above,

The discontented twig but pines away and dies. A gay refulgent train,

The house ye praise ihat a large prospect yields ; Harmonioully move O'er yon celestial plain

And view with longing cycs the pleasure of the Like us whirl along, in concert so fwcet.

'In thus ye own, ihus tacitly confels,


'Th' inimitable charms the peaceful country blcís. Now puss threads the brakes, and heavily flies, In vain from nature's rules we blindly tray, At the head of the pack

And push th' uneasy monitrix away : Old Fidler bears the bell,

Still the returns, nor lets our conscience rest, Every foil he hunts back,

But night and day inculcates what is belt, And aloud rings her knell,

Our truest friend, though an unwelcome guckt. Till forc'd into view, she pants and she dies, A: soon th’unikilful fool that's blind enough, In life's dull round thus we toil, and we sweat ;

To call rich Indian damask Norwich fuff, Diseases, grief, and pain,

Shall become rich by trade; as he be wile, An implacable crew,

M'hose partial soul and undifcerning eyes While we double in vain,

Can't at first sight, and at each tranficnt view, Unrelenting pursue, Distinguish good from bad, or faise from true.

Hc Til, quite hunted down, we yield with regret.

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He that too high exalts his giddły head

But for the vine fel és a spouse.
When fortune foiles, if the jilt front n, is dead: Chaile emblem of the marriage-bed,
Th' aspirin fool, big with his hau, hiy boat, Or prunes the two luxuriant boughs,
Is the niost abject wretch when all his hopes are And grafts more happy in their stead.

Or hears the lowing herds from far,
Sit loose to all the world, nor aught admire, That satten on the fruitful plains,
These worthless toys too fondly we delire ; And ponders with delightful care,
Since when the dirling's ravith'd from our heart,

The prospect of his future gains.
The pleasure's over-balane'd by the smart.
Confine thy thoughts, and bound thy loose decres, Or fears his fhcep that round him graze,

And droop beneath their curling loads;
For thrifty nature no great cult requires :
A healthful body, and thy mitreis kind,

Or slunders his laborious bees

Of balmy nectar, drink of Gods !
An humble cot, and a more humble m nd :
These once enjoy'd, the world is all thy own,

His chearful head when Autumn rears, .
From thy poor cell despise the tortering throne, And bending boughs reward his pains,
And wakeful monarchs in a bed of down

Joyous he plucks the luscious pears,
The stag well arm'd, and with unequal force, The purple grape his finger stains.
From fruitfulmeadows chac'd the conquer'd horse; Each honest heart's a welcome guest,
I he haughty beart that stomach'd the disgrace, With tempting fruit his tables glow,
In meiner pastures not content to graze,

The Gods are bidden to the feast,
Receives the bit, and man's assistance prays.

To ihare the blettings they bcftow. The conquell gain'd, and many trophics won,

Under an oak's į rote&ting fhade, His false confederate still rode boldly on;

In flowery meads profusely gay, In vain the heart curs'd his perfidious aid,

Supinc he leans his peaceful head, He plung'd, he rear'd, but nothing could per

And gently loiters life away. fuade The rider from his back, or bridle from his head..

The vocal streams that murinuring flow, Just so the wretch that greedily aspires,

Or from their springs complaining creep, Unable to content his wild desires ;

The birds that chirp on every bough, Dreading the fatal thought of being poor,

Invite his yielding eyes to Beep. Lofes a prize worth all his goldin ore,

But, when bleak stornis and lowering Jove The happy freedom he enjoy'd before.

Now sadden the declining year, About him fill th' uncasy load he bears,

Through every thicket. every grove, Spurr’d on with fruitless hopes, and curb'd with Swilt he pursues the flying decr. anxious fears.

With deep-hung hounds he sweeps the plains i The man whose fortunes fit not to his mind,

The hills, the vallics, smoak around : The way to true content thall never find;

The woods repeat his pleasing pains,
Jl the shoe pinch, or if it prove too wide,

And Echo propagates the found.
In that he walks in pain, in this he treads aside.
but you, my friend, in calm contentment live, Or, push'd by his victorious spear,
Always well pleas`d with what the Gods shall give;

The grisly boar before him flics,
Lct not base mining pelf thy mind deprave,

Betray'd by his prevailing fear Tyrant of fjols, the wise man's drudge and flave;

Into the toils, the monster dies.
And me reprove if I shall crave for more, His cowering falcon mounts the skies,
Or seem the least uncaly to be poor.

And cuts through clouds his liquid way :
Thus niuch I write, merry, and free from care, Or else with fly deceit he tries
And nothing covet, but thy presence here.

To make the lefler game his prey.
Who, thus possess'd of solid joy,

Would love, that idle imp, adore ?

Cloe's coquet, Myrtilla's coy,

And Phyllis is a perjur'd whorc. from Horace, Epod. ll.

Adieu, funtalic idle fame!
APPY the mon who, free from care,

Give me a profitable wise,
Manures his own paternal fields,

A careful, but obliging dame,
Content, as his wrile fathers were,

To foften all the toils of life: T'enjoy the crop his labour yields.

Who shall with tender care provide, Nor usury torments his breaft,

Against her weary spouse return, That barters happiness for gain,

With plenty see his board supply'd Nor war's alarms disturb his rest,

And make the crackling billets burn : Nor hazards of the faithless main :

And while his men and maids repair Nor at the loud tumultuous bar,

To fold his sheep, to milk his kine, With costly noise, and dear debate,

With unbought dainties feast her dear, Proclaims an everlasting war;

And treat him with domestic wine, Nor fawns on villains basely gocat.

I view


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