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Shouldt thou repent, and at my feet be laid,

Dejected, penitent, forlorn,
And all thy fori: er follies mouro,

Thy proffer'd passion I would scorn :
When, my dear Cloe, you resign

The gods shall do me right on that devoted head One happy hour to mirth and wine,

And you, spruce fir, who insolently gay, Each glass you drink fill paints your face

Exulting, laugh at my disgrace, With some new vidtorious grace :

Boast with vain airs, and stiff grimace, Charm in reserve my soul surprise,

Your large eftate, your handsome face, And by fresh wounds your lover dies.

Proud of a fleeting bliss, the pageant of a day: Who can relift thee, lovely fair! That wit! that soft engaging air !

You too shall soon repent this haughty scorn ;

When, fickle as the sea or wind, Each panting heart its homage pays,

The prostitute fall change her mind, And all the vallal world obeys.

To such another coxcomb kind; (tura. God of the grape, boast now no more

Then shall I clap my wings, and triumph in tay
Thy triumphs on far Indus' sore :
Each useless weapon now lay down,

Thy tigers, car, and ivy crown;
Give but this juice in full supplies,

Who spent the Night in Tears, upon a Report that ber And trust thy fame to Cloe's eyes.

Brother was to fight a Duel the next Morning. TO A DISCARDED TOAST.

PASTORA Weeps, let every lover mourn,

Her grief is no less fatal than her scorn: CELIA, confess 'eis all in vain,

Those shining orbs inflict an equal pain, To patch the ruins of thy face;

O'erflown with tears, or pointed with disdaia. Nor of ill-natur'd time complain,

When doubts and fears invade the tender breat, That robs it of cach blooming grace.

Where peace, and joy; and love fhould ever rek;

As flowers depriv'd of the sun's genial ray, If love no more shall bend his bow,

Earthward we bend, and filently decay; Nor point his arrows from thine eye,

In spight of all philosophy can do, If no lac'd fop, nor feather'd beau,

Our hearts relent, the bursting torrents flow, Despairing at thy feet shall die:

We feel her pains, and propagate her woe. Yet still, my charmer, wit like thine

Each mournful muse laments the weeping fair, Shall triumph over age and fate ;

The graces all their comcly trefles tear, Thy setting beams with lustre shine,

Love drags his wings, and droops his little head, And rival their meridian height.

And Venus mourns as for Adonis dead. Beauty, fair flower! soon fades away,

Patience, dear maid, nor without cause complain, And transient are the joys of love;

O lavish not those precious drops in vain : But wit, and virtue, ne'er decay,

Under the shield of your prevailing charms, Ador'd below, and bless'd above.

Your happy brother lives fecure from harms,
Your bright resemblance all my rage disarms. S

Your influence unable to withstand,

The conscious steel drops from my trembling hand; From Horace, Epod. xv. ad Neeram. Low at your feet the guilty weapon lies, 'Twas night, and heaven intent with all its eyes

The foe repents, and the fond lover dies. Gaz'd on the dear deceitful maid;

Æneas thus by men and gods pursued, A thousand pretty things the said,

Fecble with wounds, defil'd with duit and blood A thousand artful tricks the play'd,

Beauty's brighe goddess interpos'd her charms, From me, deluded me, her falsehood to disguise.

And lay'd the hopes of Troy from Grecian arms. She clafp'd me in her soft encircling arms,

She press'd her glowing cheek to mine,
The clinging ivy, or the curling vine,

Did never yet so closely twine; [charms?
Who could be man and bear the luftre of her the cost and labour we may justly spare.

Vain our pursuits of knowledge, vain our care, And thus the swore : by all the powers above, Death from this coarse alloy refines the mind,

When winter storms shall cease to roar, Leaves us at large e' czpatiate unconfin'd;
When summer suns shall shine no more, All science opens to our wondering eyes,

When wolves their cruelty give o'er, And the good mau is in a moment wife.
Neæra then, and not till then, shall cease to love.
Ah! false Veæra! perjur'd fair : but know,

I have a foul too grcat to bear
A rival's proud insulting air,

FPIG. xlvii.
Another may be found as fair, [you. Would you, my friend, find out the true recei
As fair, wngratefulnymph! and far more juft than To live at cafe, and Atem the tide of fate ;

The grand elixir thus you must infuse,

B. Though brighter he than blazing kar, And these ingredients to be happy choose :

More fickle thou than wind or fea,
First an estatc, noe got with toil and sweat, With thee, my kind returning dear,
But unincumber'd left, and free from debt:

I'd live, contented die with thee.
For let that be your doll forefather's care,
To pinch and drudge for his deserving heir;

Fruitful and rich, in land that's sound and good,
That fills your barns with corn, your hearth with Occafioned by a Clergyman's Widow of ferventy years of

age, being married to a young Exciséman. That cold nor hunger may your house infest,

THERE liv'd in our good town, While flames invade the skies, and pudding crowns

A relick of the gown, the feast.

A chaste and humble dame;
A quiet mind, serene, and free from care,

Who, when her man of God
Nos puzzling on the bench, nor noisy at the bar; was cold as any clud,
A body found, that physic cannot mend;

Dropt many a tear in vain.
And the best physic of the mind, a friend,
Equal in birth, in humour, and in place,

But now, good people, learn all,

No grief can be eternal; 'Thy other self, distinguish'd but by face;

Nor is it meet, I ween, Whose sympathetic soul takes equal share

That folks should always whimper,
Of all thy pleasure, and of all thy care.

There is a time to fimper,
A modest board, adoru'd with men of fense,
No French ragouts, nor French impertinence,

As quickly shall be seen.
A merry bottle to engender wit,

For love, that little urchin, Not over-dos'd, but quantum fufcit :

About this widow lurching, Equal the error is in each excess,

Had lily fix'd his dart; Nor dullness less a sin, than drunkenness.

The filent creeping flame
A tender wife dissolving by thy side,

Boild sore in every vein,
Easy and chaste, free from debate and pride, And glow'd about her heart.
Each day a mistress, and each night a bride.

So when a pipe we smoke,
Sleep undifturb’d, and at the dawn of day, And from the flint provoke
The merry horn, that chides thy tedious day; The sparks that twinkling play:
A horse that's clean, fure-footed, fwist, and found, The touch-wood old and dry
And dogs that make the echoing clifts resound; With heat begins to fry,
That sweep the dewy plains, out-fly the wind, And gently wastes away.
And leave domestic forrows far bchind. (past,

With are the patch'd up nature,
Pleas'd with thy present lot, nor gradging at the

Reforming every feature, Nor fearing when thy time hall come, nor hop

Restoring every grace : ng for thy lat.

To gratify her pride,

She lopp'd each cranny wides

And painted o'er her face.

Nor red, nor cke'ihe white,

Was wanting to invite,
Front Horace, Book III. Ode ix.

Nor coral lips tha: pout;
D. Wuile I was yours, and yours alone,

But, oh, in vain she tries: Proud, and transported with your charms,

With darts to arm those eyes I envy'd not the Persian throne,

That dimly fquint about. But reign'd more glorious in your arms.

With order and with care, B. While you were true, nor Suky fair

Her pyramid of hair Had chas'd poor Brony frotn your breatt;

Sublimely mounts the sky; Not llia could with me compare,

And, that she might prevail,

She bolster'd up her tail, So fam'd, or lo divinely bicft.

With rumps three sterics high. D. In Suky's arms entranc'd I lie,

With many a rich perfume, So sweetly fings the warbling fair !

She purify'd her room, For whom mot willingly I'd die,

As there was need, no doubt; Would face the gentie Syren spare.

For on these warm occasions, B. Me Billy burns with mutual fire,

Offensive exhalations For whom I'd die, in whom I live,

Are apt to fiy about. For whom each moment I'd expire,

On beds of roses lying, Might he, my better part, survive.

Expecting, wishing, dying, D. Should I once more my heart resign,

Thus langush'd for her love Would you the penitent receive ?

The Cyprian queen of old, Would Suky scorn' acone my crime ?

As merry bards have told, And would iny Brusy one her dave

All in a myrtle grove.

In pale of mother church,

In juiceless, joyless arms infold She fondly hop'd to lurch,

A sapling young and gay. But, ah me! hop'd in vain;

The thriving plant, if better join'd, No doctor could be found,

Would emulate the skies; Who this her casc profound

But, to that wither'd trunk confin'd,
Durit venture to explain.

Grows (ickly, pines, and dies.
At length a youth full smart,
Who oft by magic art

Had div'd in many a hole;
Or kilderkin, or tun,

Berold, my friend, the rosy-finger'd mort,

With blushes on her face,
Or hogshead, 'twa3 all one,
He'd found it with his pole.

Pceps o'er yon azure hill;

Rich gems the trees cochase, His art, and eke his face,

Pearls from each bush distil, So fuited to her case,

Arise, arise, and hail the light new-born.
Engag'd her love-lick heart;

Hark! hark! the merry horn calls, Come away:
Quo:h she, my pretty Diver,
With thee I'll live for ever,

Quit, quit the downy bed;

Break from Amynta's arnis; And from thee never part.

Oh, let it ne'er be said, For thee my bloom reviving,

That all, that all her charms,
For thee fresh charms arising,

Though she's as Venus fair, can tempt thy stay.
Shall melt thee into joy;
Nor doubt, my pretty sweeting,

Perplex thy soul no more with cares below,
Ere nine months are completing,

For what will pelf avail ! To see a bonny boy.

Thy courser paws the ground,

Each beagle cocks his tail, As ye have seen, no doubt,

They spend their mouths around, A candle when just out,

While health, and pleasure, smiles on every brow.
In flames break forth again;
So fhooe this widow bright,

Try, huntsmen, all the brakes, spread all the plain,
Now, now,

she's All blazing in despight

gone away, Of thrcescore years and ten.

Strip, Itrip, with fpeed pursue ;
The jocund god of day,

Who fain our sport would view,

See, see, he flogs his fiery steeds in vain.
Pour down, like a flood from the hills, brave boya

On the wings of the wind
TIME as malevolent, as old,

The merry bcagles fly; To blait Canidia's face,

Dull forrow lags behind : Which once 'twas rapture to behold)

Ye shrill echoes, reply; With wrinkles and disgrace.

Catch each flying found, and double our joys. Not so in blooming beauty bright,

Ye rocks, woods, and caves, our music repeat: Each envying virgin's pattern,

The bright spheres thus above, She reign'd with undisputed right

A gay refulgent train, A * priestess of St. Cartern.

Harmoniously move, Each sprightly soph, each brawny thrum;

O'er yon celestial plain Spent his first runniogs here;

Like us whirl along, in concert fo sweet. And hoary doctors dribbling come,

Now Pufs threads the brakes, and heavily flies; To languish and despair.

At the head of the pack Low at her feet the proftrate arts

Old Fidler beats the bell, Their humble homage pay;

Every foil he hunts back, To her the tyrant of their hearts,

And aloud rings her knell, Each bard directs his lay.

Till, forc'd into view, the pants, and the dies. But now, when impotent to please,

lo life's dull round thus we toil, and we (west; Alas! she would be doing ;

Diseases, grief, and pain, Reversing nature's wife decrees,

An implacable crew, herself a-wooing.

While we double in vain, Though bribid with all her pelf, the fwaia

Unrelenting pursue, Most awkwardly complies;

Till, quite hunted down, we yield with regret. Press’d to hear arms, he serves in pain,

This moment is ours, come live while we may, Or from his colours flies.

What's decreed by dark fate

Is not in our own power, So does an ivy, green when old,

Since to-morrow's too late, And sprouting in decay ;

Take the present kind hour: * She was bar-koeper ei tbe Cattern-wheel in Oxford. I With wine cheer the night, as sports bless the day


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Since when the darling's ravith'd from our heart, A TRANSLATION OF HORACE, EP. X. The pleasure's over-balanc'd by the finart.

Confine thy thoughts, and bound thy loose defires, Horace recommends a Country Life, and diffuades bis For thrifty nature no great cost requires : Friend from t'mbition and Avarice.

A healthy body, and thy mistress kind,

A humble cot, and a more huinble mind : Healti to my friend loft in the smoky town,

These once enjoy'd, the world is all thy own, From him who breathes in country air alone,

From thy poor cell despise the tottering throne, In all things else thy soul and mine are one;

And wakeful monarchs in a bed of down. And like two aged long acquainted doves,

The stag well-arn’d, and with unequal force, The same our mutual hate, the same our mutual

From fruitful meadows chas'd the conquer'd horses loves,

The haughty beast that stomach'd the disgrace, Close, and secure, you keep your lazy neft,

In meaner pastures not content to graze, My wandering thoughts won't let my pinions rest:

Receives the bit, and man's all lance prays. O'er rocks, seas, woods, I take my wanton flight,

The conquest gain'd, and many trophies won, And each new object charms with new delight, His faise confederate still rude boldly on; To say no more, my friend, I live, and reign,

In vain the beast curs d his perfidious aid, Lord of myself : I've broke the servile chain,

He plung'd, he rear'd, but nothing could perShook off with scorn the trifles you desire,

suade All the vain empty pothings fops admire.

The rider from his back, or bridle from his head. Thus the lean Nave of some fat pamper'd priest Just fo the wretch that greedily aspires, With greedy eyes at first views each luxurious Unable to content his wild desires; feast;

Dreading the fatal thought of being poor, But, quickly cloy’d, now he no more can eat

Lofes a prize worth all his golden ore, Their godly viands, and their holy meat :

The happy freedom he enjoy'd before. Wisely ambitious to be free and poor,

About him ftill ch'unea!y load he bears, Longs for the homely scraps be loth'd before.

Sparr’d on with fruitless hopes, and curbid wich Seekit thou a place where nature is observ'd,

anxious fears, And cooler reason may be mildly heard ; The man whofc fortune fit not to his mind, To rural shades let thy calm soul retreat,

The way to true content shall never find; These are th'Elysian fields, this is the happy seat,

If the shoe pinch, or if it prove too wide, Proof against winter's cold, and summer's hear,

In that he walks in pain, in this he treads afide. Here no invidious care thy peace annoys, But you, my friend, in calm contentment live, T Sleep undisurbid, uninterrupted joys;

Always well pleas'd with what the god, fhallgive; Your marble pavements with ditgrace must yield Let nor base ihining peli thy niind deprave, To each smooth plain, and gay enamel'd field :

Tyrant of fools, the wise man's drudge and lave; Your miuddy aqueducts can ne'er compare And me reprove if I shall crave for more, With country streams, more pure than city air ;

Or seem the least uneasy to be poor.
Our yew and bays enclos'd in pots ye prize, Thus much I write, merry, and free from care,
And mimic little beauties we defpife.

And nothing covet, but thy presence here.
The role and woodbine marble walls support,
Holly and ivy deck the gaudy court :
But yet in vain all thists the artist tries,

The discontented ewig bue pines away and dies.
The house ye praisc that a large prospect yields,

FROM HORACE, E POD. I And view with longing eyes the plealure of the Happs the man, who, free from care, fiel is;

Manures his own paternal litlus, 'Tis thus ye own, thus tacitly confess,

Content, as his wife fathers were,
Th' inimitable charms the peaceful country bless. T' enjoy the crop his labour yielde.
lo vain from nature's rules we blindly stray, Nor usury torments his breat,
And push th' uneasy monitrix away:

That bartero happiness for gain,
Still the returns, nor lets our conscience relt,

Nor war’s alarms duturb his relt,
But night and day inculcates what is belt,

Nor hazards of the faithlef main :
Our truett friend, though an unwelcome guest
As foon th' unskiltul fool that's blind enough,

Nor at the loud tumukuous bar,
To call rich Indian damaik Norwich ftuff,

With coftly noise, and dear deba:e, Shall become rich by trade, as he be wise,

Proclaims an evcilalıng war; Whole partial foul and undiscerning eyes

Nur suwne un viliains bufely great. Can't at firit fight, and at each tranficet view,

Bue for the vine fele&: a spouse, D.ftinguith good from bad, or falic from true.

Chatte emblema of the narriage-bed,
He that too high exalts his giddy head

Or prunes che tuo luxuriant boughs,
When fortune imiles, is the jilt frowns, is dead : And gralcs m. so happy in their lead,
Th' aspiring fool, big with his laugh y boalt, Or hears the lowing herds from far,
Is the mod abject wretch wheu alibiis hopes are lok. That fatten on the iruitsui plains,
Sit loose to all the world, nor aught adnire, And ponciers with delightful care,
Theie worthless toys too fondly we delirc;

The prospect of bis future gains,

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Or shears his sheep that round him graze, Let fops their lickly palates please,
Ard droop beneath their curling loads ;

With luxury's expensive fore,
Or plunders his laborious bees

And feast each virulent disease Of balmy nectar, drink of gods!

With dainties from a foreign shore. His cheerful head when Autunın rears,

1, whom my little farm fupplies, And bending boughs reward his pains,

Richly on nature's bounty live; Joyous he plucks the luscious pears,

The only happy are the wife, The purple grape his finger itains.

Content is all the gods can give. Each honest heart's a welcome guest,

While thus on wholesome cates 1 fealt, With tempting fruit his tables glow,

Oh, with what rapture I behold The gods are bidden to the sealt,

My flocks in comely order halte To share the bleslings they beltow.

T'enrich with soil the barren fold! Under an oak's proteding shade,

The languid ox approaches flow, In flowery meads profusely gay,

To share the food his labours earn; Supine he leans his peaceful head,

Painful he tugs th' inverted plough, And gently loiters life away.

Nor hunger quickens his return. The vocal streams that murmuring flow,

My wanton swains, uncouchly gay, Or from their springs complaining creep,

About my smiling hearth delight, The birds that chirp on every bough,

To sweeten the laborious day,
Invite his yielding eyes to fleep.

By many a merry tale at night.
But, when bleak storms and lowering love Thus spoke old Gripe, when bottles three
Now fadden the declining year,

Of Burton ale, and fea-coal fire,
Through every thicket, every grove,

Unlock'd his breast ; refolv'd to be
Swilt he pursues the flying deer.

A generous, honest, country 'squire.
With deep hung hounds he sweeps the plains ; That very night his money lent,
The hills, the vallies, smoke around :

On bond, or mortgage, he call'd in,
The woods repeat his pleasing pains,

With lawful use of six per cent. And echo propagates the found.

Next morn, he put it out at ten. Or, puli'd by his victorious fpear,

FABLE I. The grilly boar before him Hies,

The Captive Trumpeter. Betray'd by his prevailing fear

Quo non præstantior alter Into the toils, the monster dies.

Æreciere viros, Martemque accendere cantu. His towering falcon mounts the skies,

VIRG. And cuts through clouds his liquid way; A PARTY of huTirs of late Or else with sly deccit he tries

For prog and plunder scour'd the plains, To make the leffer game prey.

Some French Gens d'Armes surpris'd, and began Wlio, thus poffef,'d of solid joy,

And brought their trumpeter in chains. Would love, that idie imp, adore ?

In doleful plight, th' unhappy bard Clee's coquet, Myrtilla's coy,

For quarter begg'd on bended knee, And Phyllis is a perjur'd whore.

Pity, Meffieurs! In truth 'cis hard Adieu, fantastic idle Alame!

To kill a harmless enemy. Give me a profitable wife,

These hands, of flaughter innocent, A careiul, bue obliging dame,

Ne'er brandish'd the destructive (word, To sofren all the toils of life :

To you or yours no hurt I meant, W'ho shall with tender care provide,

O take a poor musician's word. Against het weary fpouse return,

But the stern foe, with generous rage, With plenty see his board supply'd,

Scoundrel! reply'd, thou first shalt dies And niake the crackling billets burn :

Who, urging others to engage, And while his men and maids repair

From fame and danger barely fiy. To fold his sheep, to milk his kine,

The brave by law of arms we fparc, With unbought dainties fcat her dear,

Thou by the hangman halt espire; And treat him with domestic wine,

'Tis just, and not at all severe,

To stop the breath that blew the fire.
I view with pity and disdain
The cuftly triiles coxcombs boast,

Their Bourdeaux, Burgandy, Champaign,

Tbebald-Pated Welfman, and the Fls. Though sparkling with the brightest toast.

- Qui non moderabitur ira, Pleas'd with found manufa&ture more,

“ Infectum volet clie, dolor quod fualerit Than all the sum the knaves impose,

“ Dum pænas odio per vim feftinat inulto." When the vain cully creats his whore,

Hoe At Drawn's, the lisce, or the Roit.

A 'SQUIRE of Wales, whose blood ran higher
Than that of any other 'quire,


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