SONG. BY JOHN WILMOT, EARL OF ROCHESTER.* INSULTING beauty, you misspend That other eyes their hearts defend 5 From all the charms you have. Your conq'ring eyes so partial are, Or mankind is fo dull, That, while I languish in despair, Many proud senseless hearts declare 10 They find you not so killing fair To wish you merciful. They an inglorious freedom boaft; I triumph in my chain; Nor am I unreveng'd, though loft; 15 Am kill'd with your difdain. *Born 1648; dyed 1680. THE SIXTEENTH ODE OF THE SECOND BOOK OF HORACE. IN BY THOMAS OTWAY.* IN ftorms when clouds the moon do hide, Shew me at sea the boldest there Or from the monarch's roofs of state 5 10 Drive thence the cares that round him wait, Of what his father left poffeft; What then in life, which foon must end, Can all our vain designs intend ? From shore to shore why should we run, * Born 1651; dyed 1682. 15 20 For baneful care will still prevail, And overtake us under fail : "Twill dodge the great man's train behind, Out-run the roe, out-fly the wind. If then thy foul rejoice to-day, Thy portion is a wealthy ftock, Rich robes to deck and make thee please : For me, Fit for my mind, fit for my mufe, 25 30 35 Which foft content does beft adorn, Shunning the knaves and fools I fcorn. 40 THE RETIREMENT. BY JOHN NORRIS. I. WELL, I have thought on't, and I find This bufie world is nonsense all; I here despair to please my mind, Her sweetest honey is fo mixt with gall. Come then, I'll try how 'tis to be alone, Live to myself a while, and be my own. II. I've try'd, and bless the happy change; For fure I ne'er can be fo bleft as now: III. Here in this fhady lonely grove, I fweetly think my hours away, Neither with business vex'd nor love, Which in the world bear fuch tyrannic fway. * Born 1657; dyed 1711. 5 10 15 No tumults can my close apartment find, Calm as those feats above, which know no storm nor wind. IV. Let plots and news embroil the ftate, Pray what's that to my books and me? Whatever be the kingdom's fate, Here I am fure t' enjoy a monarchy. Lord of myself, accountable to none, Like the first man in paradice, alone. V. While the ambitious vainly fue, The mighty labours of the diftant main : VI. Th' uneafie pageantry of state, And all the plagues to thought and sense, Are far remov'd; I'm plac'd by fate Out of the road of all impertinence. Thus, tho my fleeting life runs fwiftly on, 'Twill not be short, because 'tis all my own. 20 25 30 35 |