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In vain on study time away we throw,
When we forbear to act the things we know.
The foldier that philosopher well blam’d,
Who long and loudly in the fchools declaim'd;
Tell (said the foldier) venerable sir,
Why all these words, this clamour, and this stir ?
Why do disputes in wrangling spend the day?
Whilst one says only yea, and t'other nay.
Oh, said the doctor, we for wisdom toil'd,
For which none toils too much : the foldier smil'd;
You ’re grey and old, and to some pious use
This mass of treasure you should now reduce :
But you your store have hoarded in some bank,
For which th' infernal spirits shall you thank.
Let what thou learnest be by practice shown,
'Tis said that wisdom's children make her known.
What's good doth open to th' enquirer stand,
And itself offers to th' accepting hand;
All things by order and true measures done,
Wisdom will end, as well as fhe begun.
Let early care thy main concerns secure,
Things of less moment may delays endure :
Men do not for their servants first prepare,
And of their wives and children quit the care ;
Yet when we ’re sick, the doctor's fetcht in haste,
Leaving our grcat concernment to the last.
When we are well, our hearts are only set
(Which way we care not) to be rich, or great;
What shall become of all that we have got;
We only know that us it follows not ;




And what a trifle is a moment's breath,
Laid in the scale with everlasting death!
What's time, when on eternity we think?
A thousand ages in that sea must sink;
Time's nothing but a word, a million
Is full as far from infinite as one.
To whom thou much dost owe, thou much must pay,
Think on the debt against th’accompting-day ;
God, who to thee reason and knowledge lent,
Will ask how these two talents have been spent.
Let not low pleasures thy high reason blind,
He's mad, that seeks what no man e'er could find.
Why should we fondly please our sense, wherein
Beasts us exceed, nor feel the stings of sin?
What thoughts man’s reason better can become,
Than th’ expectation of his welcome home ?
Lords of the world have but for life their lease,
And that to (if the lesser please) must cease.
Death cancels nature's bonds, but for our deeds
(That debt first paid) a strict account succeeds;
If here not clear’d, no suretyship can bail
Condemned debtors from th' eternal gaol.
Christ's blood 's our balsam; if that cure us here,
Him, when our judge, we shall not find severe ;
His yoke is easy when by us embrac'd,
But loads and galls, if on our necks 'tis cast.
Be just in all thy actions; and if join'd
With those that are not, never change thy mind :
If aught obstruct thy course, yet stand not still,
But wind about, till you have topp'd the hill ;


That she no ways nor means may leave untry'd,
Thus to her sister she herself apply'd :
Dear sister, my resentment had not been
So moving, if this fate I had foreseen ;
Therefore to me this last kind office do,
Thou hast some interest in our scornful foc,
He trusts to thee the counsels of his mind,
Thou his soft hours, and free access canft find :
Tell him I sent not to the Ilian coast
My fleet to aid the Greeks; his father's ghost
I never did disturb: ask him to lend
To this, the last request that I shall fend,
A gentle ear; I wish that he may find
A happy passage, and a prosperous wind,
The contract I don't plead, which he betray'd,
Nor that his promis'd conquest be delay'd;
All that I ask is but a short reprieve,
Till I forget to love, and learn to grieve;
Some pause and respite only I require,
Till with my tears I shall have quench'd my fire.
If thy address can but obtain one day
Or two, my death that service shall repay.
Thus the intreats; such messages with tears
Condoling Anne to him, and from him bears :
But him no prayers, no arguments can move ;
The Fates refft, his ears are stopt by Jove.
As when fierce northern blafts from th’ Alps descend,
From his firm roots with struggling gufts to rend
An aged sturdy oak, the rattling found
Grows loud, with leaves and scatter'd arms the ground


Is over-laid ; yet he stands fixt, as high
As his proud head is rais’d towards the sky,
So low towards hell his roots descend. With prayers
And tears the Hero thus assailid, great cares
He smothers in his breast, yet keeps his post,
All their addresses and their labour lost.
Then she deceives her sister with a smile :
Anne in the inner court erect a pile ;
Thereon his arms and once-lov'd portrait lay,
Thither our fatal marriage-bed convey;
All cursed monuments of him with fire
We must abolish (so the Gods require.)
She gives her credit for no worse effect
Than from Sichæus' death she did suspect,
And her commands obeys.
Aurora now had left Tithonus' bed,
And o'er the world her blushing rays did spread ;
The Queen beheld, as soon as day appear’d,
The navy under fail, the haven clear’d;
Thrice with her hand her naked breast the knocks,
And froin her forehead tears her golden locks.
O Jove, the cry'd, and shall he thus delude
Me and my realın ! why is he not pursued ?
Arm, arm, she cry'd, and let our Tyrians board
With ours his feet, and carry fire and lword ;
Leave nothing unattempted to destroy
That perjur'd race, then let us die with joy.
What if th' event of war uncertain were ?
Nor death, nor danger, can the defperate fear.



But oh too late! this thing I should have done,
When first I plac'd the traitor on my throne.
Behold the faith of him who fav'd from fire
His honour'd houshold Gods, his aged sire
His pious shoulders from Troy's flames did bear;
Why did I not his carcase piece-meal tear,
And cast it in the sea ? why not destroy
All his companions, and beloved boy
Ascanius? and his tender limbs have dreft,
And made the father on the son to feast?
Thou Sun, whose lustre all things here below
Surveys; and Juno, conscious of my woe;
Revengeful Furies, and Queen Hecate,
Receive and grant my prayer? If he the sea
Must needs escape, and reach th’ Ausonian land,
If Jove decree it, Jove's decree must stand;
When landed, may he be with arms opprest
By his rebelling people, be distrest
By exile from his country, be divorc'd

young Ascanius' sight, and be enforc'd
To implore foreign aids, and lose his friends
By violent and undeserved ends!
When to conditions of unequal peace
He shall submit, then may he not possess,
Kingdom nor life, and find his funeral
I'th' sands, when he before his day shall fall !
And ye, oh Tyrians, with immortal hate
Pursue this race, this service dedicate
To my deplored ashes, let there be
sTwixt us and them no league nor amity.


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