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With terrors round, can Reason hold her throne,
In spite of witches, devils, dreams, and fire?
Learn to live well, or fairly make your will; You've play'd, and loved, and ate, and drank your Walk sober off, before a sprightlier age
[fill. Comes tittering on, and shoves you from the stage; Leave such to trifle with more grace and ease, Whom folly pleases, and whose follies please.
BOOK IV. ODE I.
AGAIN? new tumults in my breast?
As in the gentle reign of my Queen Anne.
Nor circle sober fifty with thy charms.
Mother too fierce of dear desires!
Turn, turn to willing hearts your wanton fires:
There spread round Murray all your blooming loves;
young, who strikes the heart With every sprightly, every decent part ; . Equal the injured to defend,
To charm the mistress, or to fix the friend:
Shall stretch thy conquests over half the kind :
Make but his riches equal to his wit.
Sacred to social life and social love,
Shall call the smiling Loves and young
For me the vernal garlands bloom no more.
The still-believing, still-renew'd desire:
Absent I follow through the' extended dream;
And now you burst (ah, cruel!) from my arms,
And swiftly shoot along the mall,
Or softly glide by the canal;
Now shown by Cynthia's silver ray,
BOOK IV. ODE IX.
LEST you should think that verse shall die
Taught on the wings of truth to fly
Though daring Milton sits sublime,
Sages and chiefs long since had birth
Ere Cæsar was, or Newton named;
These raised new empires o'er the earth,
Vain was the chief's the sage's pride!
SATIRES OF DR. JOHN DONNE,
DEAN OF ST. PAUL'S,
Quid vetat et nosmet Lucili scripta legentes
YES, thank my stars! as early as I knew
That all beside one pities, not abhors:
As who knows Sappho, smiles at other whores. I grant that poetry's a crying sin;
It brought (no doubt) the' excise and army in:
Yet like the papist's is the poet's state,
Here a lean bard, whose wit could never give Himself a dinner, makes an actor live: The thief condemn'd, in law already dead, So prompts and saves a rogue who cannot read. Thus as the pipes of some carved organ move, The gilded puppets dance and mount above :
Heaved by the breath the' inspiring bellows blow; The' inspiring bellows lie and pant below.
One sings the fair; but songs no longer move; No rat is rhymed to death, nor maid to love: In Love's, in Nature's spite, the siege they hold, And scorn the flesh, the Devil, and all but gold.
These write to lords, some mean reward to get, As needy beggars sing at doors for meat: Those write because all write, and so have still Excuse for writing, and for writing ill.
Wretched, indeed! but far more wretched yet Is he who makes his meal on others' wit: "Tis changed, no doubt, from what it was before; His rank digestion makes it wit no more: Sense pass'd through him no longer is the same; For food digested takes another name.
I pass o'er all those confessors and martyrs,
Act sins which Prisca's confessor scarce hears.