The loads they wheel, the roots they bare, They lay the rich manure with care; While oft he calls to labour hard, And names as oft the red reward. The plants refresh'd, new leaves appear, The grapes hung dangling deep with blue. To show the work, and reap the gain. They fit to riot on the ground; A veffel stands amidst the ring, And here they laugh, and there they fing: Or rife a jolly jolly band, And dance about it hand in hand; Dance about, and fhout amain, Then fit to laugh and fing again. But, as an ancient author fung, Here one was crying out, By Jove! These take the monkeys turn of mind, Here one, that saw the Nymphs which stood To peep upon them from the wood, Be lagging late beneath the fhade; goat retain. Another drinks and casts it up, And drinks, and wants another cup; Solemn, filent, and fedate, Ever long, and ever late, Full of meats, and full of wine: This takes his temper from the fwine. Here fome who hardly feem to breathe, 'Twas thus one autumn all the crew THE HORSE AND THE OLIVE. WITH moral tale let ancient Wisdom move, Which beft contriv'd to do the nation good. The Goddess, smiling, gently bow'd her spear, And rather thus they shall be bless'd, she said: Then upwards fhooting in the vernal air, With loaded boughs the fruitful Olive spread. Jove faw what gift the rural powers defign'd; And took th' impartial scales, refolv'd to show, If greater bliss in warlike pomp we find, Or in the calm which peaceful times bestow. On Neptune's part he plac'd victorious days, Gay trophies won, and fame extending wide; But plenty, fafety, fcience, arts, and ease, Minerva's fcale with greater weight supply'd. Fierce War devours whom gentle Peace would fave: Sweet Peace reftores what angry War deftroys; War made for Peace, with that rewards the brave, While Peace its pleasures from itself enjoys. Hence vanquish'd Neptune to the sea withdrew, Hence wife Minerva rul'd Athenian lands; Her Athens hence in arts and honours grew, And still her Olives deck pacific hands. From fables, thus disclos'd, a monarch's mind May form juft rules to chufe the truly great, And subjects weary'd with diftreffes find, Whofe kind endeavours moft befriend the ftate. Ev'n Britain here may learn to place her love, If cities won, her kingdom's wealth have coft; If Anna's thoughts the patriot fouls approve, Whose cares restore that wealth the wars had lost. But if we ask, the moral to disclose, Whom her beft patronefs Europa calls, Great Anna's title no exception knows, And unapply'd in this the fable falls. With her nor Neptune or Minerva vies : Whene'er the pleas'd, her troops to conqueft flew; Whene'er she pleases, peaceful times arise : She gave the Horse, and gives the Olive too. DR. DONNE's THIRD SATIRE VERSIFIED. COMPASSION checks my spleen, yet scorn denies These means are ours, and must its end be theirs? Of heathen fages cloath'd in heavenly light, |