No nipping white is feen, But all the Fields are clad with pleasant Green, The Ox forfakes his once warm Stall To bask in th' Sun's much warmer beams; The Plowman leaves his fire and his fleep, Well pleas'd to whistle to his lab'ring Teams; Whilft the glad Shepherd pipes to's frisking Sheep. Nay tempted by the smiling Sky Wreckt Merchants quit the fhore, Refolving once again to try The Wind and Seas Almighty power; Chufing much rather to be dead than poor. Upon the flow'ry Plains, Or under fhady Trees, The Shepherdeffes and their Swains Dance to their rural Harmonies; They fteal in private to the covert Groves, There finish their well heighten❜d Loves. The City Dame takes this pretence (Weary of Husband and of Innocence) To quit the fmoak and business of the Town, And to her Country-house retires, Where the may bribe, then grasp some brawny Clown, Or her appointed Gallant come To feed her loofe defires; Whilft the poor Cuckold by his fweat at home Bleft as he thinks in fuch a beauteous Bride.. Let's then accept our Mother Nature's treat, Where Crown'd with gaudy flowers We'll drink and laugh away the gliding hours. Truft me, Thyrfis, the grim Conqueror Death With the fame freedom fnatches a King's breath, He huddles the poor fetter'd Slave, Tho' each day we with coft repair, He mocks our greatest skill and utmost care; Nor loves the Fair, nor fears the Strong. And he that lives the longeft, dies but young; And once depriv'd of light We're wrapt in mists of endless Night. Once come to thofe dark Cells of which we're told, So many ftrange Romantick Tales of Old, (In things unknown Invention's juftly bold) No more fhall Mirth and Wine Our loves and wits refine; No more fhall you your Phyllis have, The IV. ODE of the SECOND BOOK of HORACE. Lush English'd by Mr. Duke. Buh not, my Friend, to own the Love Which thy fair Captive's Eyes do move: Stoopt to the Beauties of a Slaves You know not to what mighty Line Oh! think not fo divine a thing Was never born of any Race That might the nobleft Love difgrace. 1, poor I, may safely praise. The VIII. ODE of the SECOND BOOK of HORACE. I English'd by Mr. Duke. ever any injur❜d Power By which the falfe Barine fwore, Falfe, fair Barine, on thy head Had the leaft mark of Vengeance fhed; Had fuffer'd by thy Perjury, I should believe thy Vows; but thou Of all our Youth the Publick care, HORACE and L Y DI A. W The IX. ODE. English'd by Mr. Duke. HORACE. Hilft I was welcome to your heart, 1 flourish'd richer and more bleft Whilft all thy Soul with me was fill'd, Lydia, the celebrated Name, The only Theme of Verfe and Fame, Me Chloe now, whom every Mufe, Me lovely Calais does fire With mutual flames of fierce defire; What if our former Loves return, For the forfaken Lydia? LIDIA: Tho' he is fhining as a Star, Conftant and kind as he is Fair; Thou light as Cork, rough as the Sea, Yet I would live, would dye with thee. |