But yet believe thy undefigning friend, When truth and genius for thy choice contend, On these foundations if thou dar'ft be great, Then future times fhall to thy worth allow Thus far my zeal, tho' for the task unfit, REFLECTIONS in SICKNESS. T I. ILL now, my SOUL, this earthly load My even spirits gently flow'd, Smooth roll'd life's tide along. II. My eyes with ardent brightnefs fhone, My nerves retain'd their wonted tone With active vigour brac'd. But III. But now how chang'd! my fabrick reels IV. Dim roll my eyes, my visage fades, V. To day the gaudy flow'r we view VI. Turn then, my SOUL, thy thoughts to GoD, For life depends upon his nod, And health is in his name. VII. 'Tis HE, HE only can reftrain My blood's impetuous tide, VIII. He can refume (whofe will be done} That breath his bounty gave; Nor afk I, if my fands are run, My IX. My fated taste dull pleasure palls, And all my fancy cloys; Why fhould I dread the voice that calls To folid endless joys? ZENO. The COURT of the LION. A From LA FONTAINE. Lion, worn with length of years, Far in a foreft's awful fhade The fragments of his mangled prey; The furly bear, unus'd to think, Stopt clofe his nofe t' avoid the ftink: His faucy nicenefs much difpleas'd, And guards th' offending victim feiz'd The The ape, to prove his judgment found, The king roll'd round his fiery eyes, My liege, I ftrive in vain to tell, Flattery too grofs offends the wife The DISINTERESTED LOVER. I I 'VE wonder'd which, when poets fing Transporting DELIA's praife, They moft endeavour to obtain, The Lady or the Bays. II. One might fuppofe, a face fo fair The hardest heart would move, And that thofe features would infpire All who behold with love. III. Young STREPHON fung in nobleft strains, But he, the laurel crown obtain'd, NUMB. II. K O STRE IV. O STREPHON, STREPHON, could you then Thus act fo mean a part, And difregard th' united charms Of nature and of art? V. Could then that more than mortal face, VI. Could thirst of glory make you thus Of beauty join'd to wit? VII. We all, I own, are fond of fame, But let me only DELIA have, And take who lift the Bays. T. N. On a Young Lady taken ill at an Affembly. A By S mortals languifh, when the rays of light But |