I claim thy folemn contract past

Wherefore this moment is thy laft.
Thus having faid, he speeds his dart,
And cleaves the hoary dotard's heart.

The fecond ODE of the fecond Book of HORACE.

Infcribed to T. V. Esq.

EAR youth, to hoarded wealth a foe,

DE

Riches with faded luftre glow;

Yes, dim the treasures of the mine,
Unless with temperate use they shine.
This ftamps a value on the gold,
So Proculeius thought of old.

Soon as this generous Roman faw
His father's fons profcrib'd by law,
The knight discharg'd a parent's part,
They fhar'd his fortune and his heart.
Hence ftands confign'd a brother's name
To immortality and fame.

Wou'd

Wou'd you true empire ascertain?
Curb all immoderate luft of gain.
This is the best ambition known,
A greater conquest than a throne.
For know, fhould Avarice controul,
Farewell the triumphs of the foul.

This is a dropfy of the mind, Refembling the corporeal kind;

For who with this disease are curst,

The more they drink, the more they thirst. Indulgence feeds their bloated veins,

And pale-ey'd, fighing languor reigns.

Virtue, who differs from the crowd, Rejects the covetous and proud; Difdains the wild ambitious breast, And fcorns to call a monarch bleft;

Labours to rescue truth and sense

From fpecious founds, and vain pretence.

Virtue to that diftinguish'd few, Gives royalty, and conqueft too; That wife minority, who own,

And

pay their tribute to her throne;

Who view with undefiring eyes,

And spurn that wealth which mifers prize.

The Tenth ODE of the fecond Book.

WOU

you, my friend, true bliss obtain ?

Nor prefs the coaft, nor tempt the main.

In open feas loud tempefts roar,

And treacherous rocks begirt the shore.

Hatred to all extremes is feen,

In those who love the golden mean.

They nor in palaces rejoice,

Nor is the fordid cot their choice.

VOL. I.

E

The

The middle state of life is beft,
Exalted stations find no reft;

Storms shake th' afpiring pine, and tower,
And mountains feel the thunder's power.

The mind prepar'd for each event,
In every state maintains content.

She hopes the beft, when storms prevail,
Nor trufts too far the profperous gale.

Shou'd time returning winters bring,
Returning winter yields to spring.
Shou'd darkness shroud the present skies,
Hereafter brighter funs fhall rise.

When Paan shoots his fiery darts,
Disease and death transfix our hearts;
But oft the God withholds his bow,
In pity to the race below.

When

When clouds the angry heavens deform,
Be strong, and brave the swelling ftorm;
Amidft prosperity's full gales

Be humble, and contract your fails,