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But we, when once our race is done,
With Tullus, and Anchifes' fon,
(Though rich like one, like t'other good)
To duft and fhades, without a fun,
Defcend, and fink in deep oblivion's flood.

Who knows, if the kind gods will give
Another day to men that live

In hope of many distant years;
Or if one night more fhall retrieve
The joys thou loseft by thy idle fears?

For when that comes, nor birth, nor fame,
Nor piety, nor honest name,

Can e'er reftore thee.

Thefeus bold,

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30

The pleasant hours thou spend'st in health,
The use thou mak'st of youth and wealth,
As what thou giv'ft among thy friends
Escapes thy heirs, so those the stealth

Of time and death, where good and evil ends. 35

Nor chafte Hippolitus could tame Devouring Fate, that spares nor young nor old.

SONG,

BY CHARLES COTTON, ESQ.⭑*

I.

FIE, pretty Doris! weep no more,

Damon is doubtless fafe on shoar,

Defpight of wind and wave;
The life is fate-free that you
cherish,
And 'tis unlike he now should perish
You once thought fit to fave.

II.
Dry (fweet) at laft, those twins of light,
Which whilft eclips'd, with us 'tis night,
And all of us are blind :

The tears that you fo freely shed,
Are both too precious for the dead,
And for the quick too kind,

III.
Fie, pretty Doris ! figh no more,
The gods your Damon will restore,

From rocks and quickfands free;
Your wishes will fecure his way,
And doubtless he, for whom you pray,
May laugh at destiny.

* Born 1630; dyed 1688.

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IV.

Still then those tempefts of your breast,
And fet that pretty heart at rest,

The man will foon return:
Those fighs for heav'n are only fit,
Arabian gums are not so sweet,

Nor off'rings when they burn.

V.
On him you lavish grief in vain,
Can't be lamented, nor complain,
Whilft you continue true :
That man' difafter is above,
And needs no pity, that does love
And is belov'd by you.

BY THE SAME.

.

THE MORNING QUATRAINS.

THE Cock has crow'd an hour ago,
'Tis time we now dull sleep forgo;
Tir'd nature is by fleep redress'd,
And labour's overcome by rest.

V, 29. man's,

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30

II.

We have out-done the work of night, ""Tis time we rise t' attend the light, And e'er he shall his beams display, To plot new bus'ness for the day.

III.
None but the flothfull, or unfound,
Are by the fun in feathers found,
Nor, without rising with the fun,
Can the world's bus'nefs e'er be done,

IV.
Hark! hark! the watchfull chanticleer
Tells us the day's bright harbinger
Peeps o'er the Eastern hills, to awe
And warn night's fov'reign to withdraw.

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VI.
Xanthus and Ethon harness'd are,
To roll away the burning carr,
And, fnorting flame, impatient bear
The dreffing of the chariotier.

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15

V.

The morning curtains now are drawn,
And now appears the blushing dawn;
Aurora has her roses fhed,

To ftrew the way Sol's fteeds muft tread. 20

VII.

The fable cheeks of fullen Night
Are streak'd with rofie streams of light,
Whilft fhe retires away in fear,
To shade the other hemisphere.

IX.

Now doors and windows are unbar'd,
Each-where are chearfull voices heard,
And round about good-morrows fly,
As if day taught humanity.

VIII.

The
merry lark now takes her wings,
And long'd-for days loud wellcome fings, 30
Mounting her body out of fight,
As if she meant to meet the light.

25

XI.

Vulcan now makes his anvil ring,

Dick whistles loud, and Maud doth fing,

And Silvio with his bugle horn
Winds an imprime unto the morn.

35

X. The chimnies now to smoke begin, And the old wife fits down to fpin, Whilft Kate, taking her pail, does trip Mulls fwoln and ftradl'ing paps to ftrip. 40

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