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O Herculus, neglect not these thy race !
BY SIR HENRY WOTTON,
WHO DIED IN 1639.
That serveth not another's will ;
And fimple truth his highest skill.
Whose passions not his mafters are ;
Whose soul is still prepar'd for death; Not tyd unto the world with care
Of princes ear, or vulgar breath.
Who hath his life from rumours freed;
Whose conscience is his strong retreat, Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppreffors great:
Who envies none whom chance doth raise,
Or vice; who never understood How deereft wounds are given with praise;
Nor rules of state, but rules of good :
Who God doth late and early pray
More of his grace than gifts to lend, And entertains the harmless day
With a well-chosen book or friend !
This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall, Lord of himself, though not of lands;
And having nothing, yet hath all.
There all the sprightly powers of wit
In blithe assemblage play ; There ev'ry social virtue lheds
Its intellectual say.
But as the Lun's refulgent light
Heav'ns wide expanse refines ;
Celestial sweetness shines.
This mental beam dilates the heart,
And sparkles in the face; It harmonizes every thought,
And heightens every grace.
One glimpse can footh the troubled breaft
The heaving high restrain !
And stop the sense of pain.
Its power can charm the savage heart,
The tyrants pity move :
And melt the soul to love.
When sweetness beams upon the throne
In majefty benign,
With milder lustre fhine.
In sences of poverty and woe,
Where melancholy dwells, The influence of this living ray
The dreary gloom dispels.
Thus, when the blooming Spring returns
To chear the mournful plains, Through earth and air, with genial warmth,
Etherial mildness reigns.
Beneath its bright auspicious beam's
No boift'rous passions rife.;. Moroseness quits the peaceful scenes,
And baleful discord flies.
A thousand nameless beauties spring,
A thousand virtues glow;
And endless blessings. filow...
Unbounded Charity" displays
Her sympathizing charms ;
The generous bosom warms.
Almighty love 'exerts his power,
And spreads with secret art,
A transport through the heart.
Nor fall the storms of age, which cloud
Each gleam of sensual joy,
These blest effects destroy.
When that fair form fhalt fink in years,
And all these graces fly;
Shall length of days defy.
And gave to wintry storms the varied year, The swallow-rare, with foresight clear inspir’d,
To southern climes prépar'd their course to steer,
On Damon's roof a grave affembly fate;
His roof a refuge to the feather'd kind; With serious look he mark'd the nice debate,
And to his Delia thus address'd his mind.
Observe yon twitt'ring flock, my gentle maid,
Observe and read the wond'rous ways of Heav'n, With us through Summer's genial reign they stay'd,
And food and lodging to their wants were given.