The FLIES. An ECLOGUE.

HEN in the river cows for coolness stand,

WE

And sheep for breezes feek the lofty land, A youth, whom Æfop taught that ev'ry tree, Each bird, and infect spoke as well as he; Walk'd calmly mufing in a fhady way, Where flow'ring hawthorns broke the funny ray, And thus inftructs his moral pen to draw

A fcene that obvious in the field he faw.

Near a low ditch, where fhallow waters meet,
Which never learnt to glide with liquid feet.
Whofe Naiads never prattle as they play,
But fcreen'd with hedges flumber out the day,
There ftands a flender fern's aspiring fhade,
Whose anfw'ring branches regularly laid,

Put forth their anfw'ring boughs, and proudly rise

Three ftories upward, in the nether skies.

For

For fhelter here, to fhun the noon-day heat,

An airy nation of the flies retreat;

Some in foft airs their filken pinions ply,
And fome from bough to bough delighted fly,
Some rife, and circling light to perch again;
A pleasing murmur hums along the plain.
So, when a stage invites to pageant shows,
(If great and small are like) appear the beaux;
In boxes fome with fpruce pretenfion fit,

Some change from feat to feat within the pit,
Some roam the scenes, or turning cease to roam;
Preluding mufic fills the lofty dome.

When thus a Flie (if what a Flie can fay

Deferves attention) rais'd the rural lay.

Where late Amintor made a nymph a bride,

Joyful I flew by young Favonia's fide,

Who, mindless of the feafting, went to fip
The balmy pleasure of the fhepherd's lip.
I saw the Wanton, where I ftoop'd to fup,
And half refolv'd to drown me in the cup;

'Till

'Till brush'd by carelefs hands, fhe foar'd above: Ceafe, Beauty, ceafe to vex a tender love.

Thus ends the youth, the buzzing meadow rung, And thus the rival of his mufic fung.

When funs by thoufands fhone in orbs of dew,
I wafted foft with Zephyretta flew;

Saw the clean pail, and fought the milky chear,
While little Daphne feiz'd my roving Dear.

Wretch that I was! I might have warn'd the dame,
Yet fat indulging as the danger came,

But the kind huntress left her free to foar :

Ah! guard, ye lovers, guard a mistress more.

Thus from the fern, whofe high projecting arms,

The fleeting nation bent with dusky fwarms,
The fwains their love in eafy mufic breathe,
When tongues and tumult ftun the field beneath.
Black ants in teams come darkning all the road,
Some call to march, and fome to lift the load;
They ftrain, they labour with inceffant pains,
Prefs'd by the cumb'rous weight of fingle grains.

The

The flies ftruck filent gaze

with wonder down:

The busy burghers reach their earthy town;
Where lay the burthens of a wint'ry store,
And thence unwearied part in search of more.
Yet one grave fage a moment's space attends,
And the small city's loftieft point afcends,
Wipes the falt dew that trickles down his face,
And thus harangues them with the graveft grace.
Ye foolish nurflings of the fummer air,
These gentle tunes and wining fongs forbear;

Your trees and whisp'ring breeze, your grove and
Your Cupid's quiver, and his Mother's dove ; [love,
Let bards to bufinefs bend their vig'rous wing,
And fing but feldom, if they love to sing:
Elfe, when the flourets of the season fail,

And this your ferny fhade forfakes the vale,
Tho' one would fave ye, not one grain of wheat,
Should pay fuch fongfters idling at my gate.

He ceas'd the Flies, incorrigibly vain,

Heard the May'r's fpeech, and fell to fing again.

I

An ELEGY, to an Old BEAUTY.

N vain, poor nymph, to please our youthful fight

You fleep in cream and frontlets all the night, Your face with patches foil, with paint repair, Dress with gay gowns, and fhade with foreign hair. If truth in fpight of manners must be told, Why really fifty-five is fomething old.

Once you were young; or one, whofe life's fo long She might have borne my mother, tells me wrong. And once, fince envy's dead before you dye, The women own, you play'd a sparkling eye, Taught the light foot a modish little trip, And pouted with the prettiest purple lip.

To fome new charmer are the roses fled,

Which blew, to damask all thy cheek with red;
Youth calls the Graces there to fix their reign,
And airs by thousands fill their easy train.

So