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Oh! what remains, what lingers yet,
To cheer me in the dark'ning hour?
The grape remains! the friend of WIT
In LOVE and MIRTH of mighty poy
Hafte-prefs the clufters, fill the boy
APOLLO! fhoot thy parting ray
This gives the funfhine of the fo

This god of health, and verfe and day.
Still-fill the jocund ftrain fall flow,
The pulfe with rouspture beat;
My STELLA with new chms fhall glow,
And ev'ry blifs in wi fhall meet.


THE fpacious firnament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky,
And fpangled hav'n's, a fhining frame,
Their great original proclaim.

Th' unweary fun, from day to day,
Does his Creator's pow'r difplay;

And publies, to ev'ry land,
The work of an almighty hand.

Soon as the ev'ning fhades prevail,
The moon takes up the wond'rous tale;
And nightly, to the lift'ning earth,
Repeats the ftory of her birth:

Whilft all the ftars that round her burn,
And all the planets, in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.
What though, in folemn filence, all
Move round the dark terreftrial ball;
What though, no real voice, nor found,
Amidft their radiant orbs be found,
In reafon's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice;
For ever finging as they fhine,
The hand that made us is divine.


HAIL! fource of transport ever new;
Whilft thy kind dictates I purfue,
I tafte a joy fincere;

Too vaft for little minds to know,
Who on themfelves alone bestow
Their wishes and their care.

Daughter of God! delight of man!
From thee FELICITY began,
Which till thy hand fullains:
By thee fweet PEACE her empire spread,
Fair SCIENCE rais'd her laurel'd head,
And DISCORD gnafh'd in chains.
Far as the pointed fun-beam flies,
Through peopled earth and ftarry skies,
All nature owns thy nod:
We fee thy energy prevail

Through being's ever-rifing fcale,
From nothing ev'n to God.

ENVY, that tortures her own heart,
With plagues and ever-burning fmart,
Thy charms divine expel:
Aghaft the fhuts her livid eyes,
And, wing'd with ten-fold fury, flies
To native night and hell.'

By thee infpir'd, the gen'rous breaft,
In bleffing others only bleft,
With goodnefs large and free,
Delights the WIDOW's tears to fiay,
To teach the blind their smootheft way,
And aid the feeble knee.

O come! and o'er my bofom reign,
Expand my heart, inflame each vein,
Through ev'ry action fhine;

Each low, each felfish with controul;
With all thy effence warm my foul,
And make me wholly thine.


Nor let fair VIRTUE'S mortal bane,
The foul-contracting thirft of gain,
My fainteft wishes sway;

By her poffefs'd, ere hearts refine,
In HELL's dark depth fhall MERCY fhine,
And kindle endless day.

If from thy facred paths I turn,

Nor feel their griefs, while others mourn,
Nor with their pleasures glow:
Banish'd from God, from blifs, and thee,
My own tormentor let me be,
And groan in hopeless woɛ.


GIVE thy thoughts no tongue,

Nor any unproportion'd thought his act:
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar:
The friends thou haft, and their adoption try'd,
Grapple them to thy foul with hooks of steel:
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade: Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,
Bear't, that th' oppofer may beware of thee:
Give ev'ry man thine ear; but few thy voice:
Take each man's cenfure, but referve thy judgment:
Coftly thy habit as thy purfe can buy,
But not exprefs'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy;
For the apparel oft proclaims the man:
Neither a borrower nor a lender be:
For loan oft lofes both itself and friend;
And borrowing dulls the edge of hufbandry:
This, above all-to thine own felf be true;
And it muft follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be falfe to any man.


NOR is that cot, of which fond fancy draws
This cafual picture, alien from our theme.
Revifit it at morn; its op'ning latch,

Tho' penury and toil within refide,
Shall thee forth a youthful progeny

Glowing with health and beauty: (fuch the dower
Of equal heav'n) fee how the ruddy tribe

Throng round the threshold, and, with vacant gaze
Salute thee, call the loiterers into use,

And form of these thy fence, the living fence,
That graces what it guards. Thou think'it, perchance,
That, fkill'd in nature's heraldry, thy art
Has, in the limits of yon fragrant tuft,
Marshall'd each rofe, that to the eye of June
Spreads its peculiar crimfon; do not err,
The lovelieft ftill is wanting, the fresh rose
Of innocence, it bloffoms on their cheek,
And lo, to thee they bear it! ftriving each,
In panting race, who firft fhall reach the lawn,
Proud to be call'd thy fhepherds. Want, alas!
Has o'er their little limbs her liv'ry hung,
In many a tatter'd fold, yet ftill thofe limbs
Are fhapely; their rude locks ftart from their brow;
Yet on that open brow, its dearest throne,
Sits fweet SIMPLICITY. Ah, clothe the troop!
In fuch a ruffet garb as beft befits

Their paftoral office; let the leathern fcrip
Swing at their fide, tip thou their crook with steel,
And braid their hats with rufhes, then to each
Aflign his ftation; at the clofe of eve,
Be it their care to pen in hurdled cofe
The flock, and when the matin prime returns,
Their care to fet them free; yet watching fill
The liberty they lend, oft fhalt thou hear
Their while firill, and oft their faithful dog
Shall with obedient barkings fright the flock

From wrong or robbery. The live-long day
Meantime rolls lightly o'er their happy heads;
They bafk on funny hillocks, or difport
In ruftic paftime, while that loveliest grace,
Which only lives in actions unreftrain'd,
To ev'ry fimple gesture lends a charm.


Good housewives now may fay;

For now foul fluts in dairies

Do fare as well as they:

And though they fweep their hearths no lefs
Than maids were wont to do,
Yet who of late for cleanliness
Finds SIX-PENCE in her fhoe?

Lament, lament, old abbies,

The fairies' loft command!

They did but change priests babies,
But fome have chang'd

your land:

And all your children ftol'n from thence,

Are now grown puritanes,

Who live as changelings ever fince,

For love of your domains.

At morning and at evening both
You merry were and glad,
So little care of fleep and floth
Thefe pretty ladies had.

When TOM caine home from labour,

Or ciss to milking rose,

Then merrily went their tabour,

And nimbly went their toes.

Witnefs thofe rings and roundelays
Of theirs, which yet remain;
Were footed in Queen MARIES days
On many a graffy plain.

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