Jones teach me modesty and Greek,
Smith how to think, Burke how to speak,
And Beauclerc to converfe.

Let Johnson teach me how to place
In faireft light each borrow'd grace;
From him I'll learn to write;

Copy his clear familiar style,
And from the roughness of his file,
Grow like HIMSELF-POLITE.

Bishop Corbet to his Son Vincent Corbet, two Years of Age.

HAT I fhall leave thee

W

tell,

;

But all shall say I wish well
you
I wish thee, Vin. before all wealth,
Both bodily and ghostly health :

none can

*Made Bishop of Norwich in 1632.

Not

Not too much wealth or wit come to thee-
Too much of either may undo thee.
I wish thee learning, not for show,
Enough for to instruct and know;
Not fuch as gentlemen require,
To prate at table and at fire.

I wish thee all thy mother's graces,
Thy father's fortunes and his places.
I wish thee friends, and one at Court,
Not to build on, but fupport;
To keep thee not in doing many
Oppreffions, but from fuff'ring any.
I wish thee peace in all thy ways,
Nor lazy nor contentious days:
And when thy foul and body part,
As innocent as now thou art.

Contend not with thy God, in impious ftrife,
But calmly bear the allotted ills of life:
Not from thy ftation treacheroufly withdraw,
Affign'd by Heaven's inviolable law.

No

SUICIDE.

With grief with pain, with poverty op preft,

ray of hope to cheer the tortur'd breaft; Or, with ill-fortune, fay a wretch has ftrove; Neglect of friends or pangs of flighted love :

What law commands fuch wretches to en dure

Those defperate evils, which admit no cure?"

FRIEND.

The first primordial faw, by Heaven impreft
At men's creation, on the human breast,
The love of life'-which nothing can con-
troul,

Till lofs of reafon ftupifies the foul.
Self-prefervation is God's firm decree ;

The fear of death, the stouteft heart appals ;
Then liften to her voice-'tis nature calls
Haft thou no offspring; no dear faithful
wife

By love, by intereft, anxious for thy life?
No aged father, or more tender mother?
No friend-more dear than fifter or than bro-
ther?

If thou thyfelf canft mock the poinard's fmart,

Ah! plunge not thus the dagger in their heart.

But fay, then, whence these miseries arise, Tho' Man is foolish, God is good and wife; By whofe kind plan, 'tis evident mankind Were for a life of happiness defign'd.

Thy griefs then fpring from luxury and vice;

Thy poverty, perhaps, from cards or dice. Does love, like Werter's, thy fond breast inspire?

Let reafon quench at once th' adulterous fire. Nor think to intrude, amidst the blest above, A foul defil'd with fin and guilty love.

As

As death to murder is by Heaven decreed,
Self-murder furely is a fouler deed,

And death eternal muft that crime fucceed. For mercy's felf, though eager to relent, Expects, at least, our crimes we should re

pent,

And what atonement can the wretch devife, Who wilfully affronts his God-and dies. Then yield not, coward like, to tranfient

woe,

But, like a Chriftian hero, face thy foe! Dare to be wretched-if thou dar'ft to fin; Left, when these pains thou'ft ended-worfe begin.

Ode on Contentment.

SPARK of pure celeftial fire,

Part of all the world's defire,

A.

Paradife