IV.

Ah! what avail their Plaints to thee?

Ah! what avails his Fame declar'd?

Thou moan'st alas! the just Decree,
Whence Virtue meets its full Reward.

V.

Tho' sweeter Sounds adorn'd thy Tongue
Than Thracian Orpheus ever play'd;
When, lift'ning to the moving Song,

Each Tree bow'd down its leafy Head:

VI.

Never, ah! never from the Gloom

Of unrelenting Pluto's Sway,

Recall'd, could the thin Shade resume
Its ancient Tenement of Clay.

VII.

Indulgent Patience! Heav'n-born Guest!

Thy healing Wings around display;

Thou

Thou gently calm'st the stormy Breast,

And driv'ft the Tyrant Grief away.

VIII.

Corroding Care, and eating Pain
By just Degrees thy Influence own ;
And lovely, lafting Peace again

Resumes her long-deferted Throne.

W

DAMON and CELIA.

I.

Here a fair Mead its Verdure spread,
Damon, a Swain, did Celia woo;

Never was feen, or Mead on Green,

A Nymph more fair, or Swain more true,

11.

In humble Strain he told his Pain,
And fu'd as faithful Lovers fue;

The

The humbler He, the loftier She;

For She was fair, and He was true.

III.

Beauty, he cry'd, is fhort-liv'd Pride,

The Wonder of a Year or two;

In vain he tries to moralize;

She ftill is fair, and He is true.

IV.

The Mufe's Aid he gently pray'd;

What may not Love and Verfe fubdue?

Nor Verfe, nor Love, her Heart can move; She ftill is fair, and He is true.

V.

The Pink, the Rofe, for her he chose,
Narciffus white, and Violet blue;
Unheeded lie their Sweets, and die;
For She was fair, and He was true.

VI.

Be thine, he said, as nigh they play'd,

These my twin Lambkins, with their Ewe; She look'd, that Look her Meaning spoke:

For She was fair, and He was true.

VII.

Must no Regard his Love reward?

To Conftancy is nothing due?

Nor Thought, nor Care, be fhe but fair,
Has Celia, be he false or true.

VIII.

With filent Tide, the Years they glide,
Thy Glories, Celia, now are few;

When those are past, his Love fhall last ;
And shall not He be counted true?

IX.

When they're decay'd, the Ruins made

He with a tender Eye fhall view,

With gen'rous Eye that Lofs fupply;

And shall not He be counted true?

X.

What once thou wert, his faithful Heart
In blooming Likeness fhall renew;

He still fhall there record you fair:
And fhall not He be counted true?

XI.

When in his Breast thy Charms exprest
Shall still their Virgin Luftre fhew;
Know, Celia, know to whom you owe
Those Charms, and own that He is true.

I'

EPIGRAM from the Greek.

F Youth and Beauty fade, my Dear,

Impart 'em wifely while you may: If still they laft; why should you fear To give what None can give away?

On