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"Let nature in your pleasures be your guide, "Nor fuffer art her genuine charms to hide : "Her beauties with unwearied eyes we see; "The truth of beauty is fimplicity.

"Live not by imitation, fervile state! "Nor on the fashion for your pleasures wait. Man, otherwise so selfish, or so proud, "Submits his tafte to the fantastic crowd, "And lives not for himself; do you pursue "Your own defires, and to yourself be true.

"As bees extract their sweets from every flow'r, "So you your joys from all things in your pow'r, "With industry and management produce;

"The meaneft trifles are sometimes of use.

"Yet know well what you do, and when 'tis done, "Nor at all hours to every pleasure run; "But mix with art your pleasures, and your toils; "For pleasures have their seasons, and their foils.

"Thus when the earliest dawn of eastern light "Proclaims the finish'd empire of the night, "Hafte to the field, Achilles, nor difdain

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To chace the foaming monster o'er the plain, "Or teach the untam'd steed to feel the rein;

"Or let your car and arms your nerves prepare, "Or for Olympic games or future war:

"Then, whether arts or glory fire your mind, "Will thoughts more generous rife, or more refin'd; "Aurora to the Muses still is kind.

"At noon, a simple short repast be made; "A fhorter flumber in the cooling fhade; "What's gay and light th' unbended mind employs, "Or sports, or past delights, or future joys. "But when the ev'ning-ftar begins to rife,

"When Phoebus' fainting steeds forfake the skies, "Still chearful at the well-spread board be found, "Amidft bright friends, and with fresh garlands crown'd, "While wine, and Thais with her voice and lyre, "Banish old forrows, and new joys inspire.

"Thus when from toils of empire you are free, "Nor camp, nor council claim your liberty, "The morn to labour and the Muses give; "At noon with temperance and quiet live ; “ Ceres' and Bacchus' gifts at evʼning prove; "Divide the night with Somnus and with Love.

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Thus, thus, Pelides, drive your cares away, "Nor fear the evil, 'till the evil day.

"What

"What though on Simois' or Scamander's fhore, "Far off from home, the Greeks your death deplore? "No matter where, or when; it once must be, "And nothing can revoke the firm decree.

Though Thetis' fon, though third from mighty Jove,

"Eternal monarch of the realms above,

"Nor Jove, nor Thetis, can your days recal, "Or for an hour defer your destin’d fall.

"Mean while a loofer rein to pleasure give: "Time flies in haste, be you in hafte to live: "Seize on the precious minutes, as they fleet; "Your life, however fhort, will be compleat, "If at the fatal moment you can fay,

I've liv'd, and made the most of every day! "One precept more I fain would recommend, "And then old Chiron's tedious leffons end.

"Learn, gen'rous prince, what's little understood, "The godlike happiness of doing good. "How glorious to defend, and to bestow! "From nobler springs can human pleasure flow? "A folid good which nothing can destroy, "The best prerogative the great enjoy.

"For this, remember, monarchs first were made,
"For this, young prince, be lov'd, and be obey'd,

"At

"At once yourself, and mighty nations bless, "And make humanity your happiness.

"But now Aurora ushers in the day,

"And fond, expecting Peleus chides your stay.

"Go then, brave youth, where'er the Fates may call; "Live with defign, and fearless wait thy fall. "Whatever space of life the gods decree, "Thy name is ftill immortal; for I fee

"More than another Peleus rife in thee.

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Thy deeds the

conqueft of the world infpire."

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ΓΝΩΘΙ ΣΕΑΥΤΟΝ.

ΣΕ ΑΥΤΟΝ.

Know YOUR SELF.

By the late Dr. ARBUTHNOT.

HAT am I? how produc'd? and for what end?

Whence drew I being? to what period tend?

Am I th' abandon'd orphan of blind chance,
Drop'd by wild atoms in diforder'd dance?

a Homer.

By Alexander, who had Homer's Iliad always with him, propofing Achilles for his example.

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Or from an endless chain of causes wrought,
And of unthinking substance, born with thought?
By motion which began without a caufe,
Supremely wife, without defign or laws?

Am I but what I feem, mere flesh and blood;
A branching channel, with a mazy flood?
The purple stream that through my veffels glides,
Dull and unconfcious flows, like common tides:
The pipes through which the circling juices ftray,
Are not that thinking I, no more than they :
This frame compacted with transcendent skill,
Of moving joints obedient to my will,
Nurs'd from the fruitful glebe, like yonder tree,
Waxes and waftes; I call it mine, not me.
New matter still the mould'ring mass sustains,
The manfion chang'd, the tenant ftill remains
And from the fleeting stream, repair'd by food,
Diftinct, as is the fwimmer from the flood.
What am I then? fure, of a nobler birth.

By parents' right, I own as mother, earth;
But claim fuperior lineage by my SIRE,

Who warm'd th' unthinking clod with heavenly fire:
Effence divine, with lifelefs clay allay'd,

By double nature, double inftinct fway'd;'

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