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By love's respectful modesty, he deem’d
Dear youth! sole judge of what these verses mean, • By fortune too much favour’d, but by love,
Alas! not favour'd lefs, be still as now · Discreet: the time may come you need not fly.'
* The Venus of Medicis.
THE FOLLY OF RICHES.
To court them I'd begin ;
I'd bid him call again.
And death pays no respect,
But treat them with neglect.
the debt we owe, And lay us in the filent tomb,
Whether we're rich or no.
And I'll no longer grieve;
And WEALTH to others leave.
And fill it o'er and o'er, 'Till DEATH shall stop the jocund laugh,
By knocking at my door.
TO be, or not to be? that is the question ;
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer The sings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And, by oppofing, end them?—To die ;-to fleep;No more ;-and, by a Neep, to say, we end The heart-ach, and the thousand natural shocks, That flesh is heir to ;-'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish’d. To die ;--to Neep ;To Deep? perchance to dream! ay, there's the rub;
For in that seep of death what dreams may come,
THE HERMIT. A T the close of the day, when the hamlet is still,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove; When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill, And nought but the nightingale's fong in the
grove'Twas then, by the cave of the mountain reclin’d,
A HERMIT his nightly complaint thus began: Tho' mournful his numbers, his soul was resign'd;
He thought as a fage, tho’ he felt as a man. “ Ah! why thus abandon’d to darkness and woe,
Why thus, lonely Philomel, flows thy sad strain? “ For spring shall return and a lover bestow,
“And thy bosom no trace of misfortune retain. “ Yet if pity inspire thee, O cease not thy lay! “ Mourn, fweetest companion ; man calls thee
“ to mourn : "Osoothe him, whose pleasures,like thine, pass away!
“ Full quickly they pass—but they never return! “ Now gliding remote on the verge of the sky,
“ The moon, half extinct, a dim crescent displays; “ But lately I mark'd, when majestic on high
“ She shone, and the planets were loft in her blaze. “ Roll on then, fair orb, and with gladness pursue
The path that conducts thee to splendouragain: “ But man's faded glory no change shall renew;
“ Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so vain. “ 'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more:
“I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you; “ For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, “ Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glitt'ring
with dew. “ Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;
“ Kind nature the embrio-blossom Thall fave: “ But when Ihall spring visit the mould'ring urn?
“ O when shall it dawn on the night of the grave :"
THE SHEEP AND THE BRAMBLE-BUSH. А
THICK-twisted brake, in the time of a storm,
Seem'd kindly to cover a meep:
It quietly footh'd him afleep.
The sheep to his pasture's inclin’d:
His coat is left forfeit behind.
Consider before you get in;
THE VILLAGE ALE-HOUSE.
NEAR yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high,
Where once the fign-poft caught the passing eye, Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts in
fpir’d, Where grey-beard mirth, and smiling toil retir’d; Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound; And news much older than their ale went round. Imagination fondly stoops to trace The parlour fplendours of that feftive place; The white-wash'd wall, the nicely sanded floor ; The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door ; The chest, contriv'd a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest of draw’rs by day; The pictures plac'd for ornament and use; The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose ; The hearth, except when winter chill'd the day, With aspen boughs, and flow’rs, and fennel gay; While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show, Rang'd o’er the chimney, glisten’d in a row.
Vain transitory splendour! could not all Reprieve the tott'ring mansion from its fall! Obscure it sinks, nor Thall it more impart An hour's importance to the poor man's heart; Thither no more the peafant Thall repair, To sweet obl’vion of his daily care; No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, No more the wood-man's ballad shall prevail, No more the smith his dusky brow Thall clear; Relax his pond'rous strength, and lean to hear; The host himself no longer shall be found Careful to see the mantling bliss go round; Nor the coy maid, half-willing to be prest, Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the reft.