These were the Compliments of old, While Nymphs, among the Gods enroll'd, Claim'd Love's obsequious Duty; Thus, while each Bard had favourite Views, Each Nymph became a GRACE, or MUSE, A VENUS every Beauty. Say, in these latter Days of ours, In CHLOE are a thousand charms, And giggling Girls may flout her, The GRACES all about her. SONG. THE HE Beauty which the Gods bestow, No 'twas lent thee from above, The flaunting Sun, whose western beams, But when thy Beauty sets, my Fair, See too, my Love, the virgin Rose, Then withers, shrinks, and dies. Of mortal Life's declining Hour, Such is the Leaf, the Bud, the Flow'r; Be blest and bless, and kind impart To Pleasure then, my charmer, haste, The proffer'd gift of Love employ, EPISTLE TO A FRIEND. ₹ 66 66 Do, study more-discard that Siren, Ease, please. "Wit's scanty streams will fret their channel dry, "If Learning's spring withhold the fresh supply. "Turn leaf by leaf gigantic volumes o'er, "Nor blush to know what antients wrote before. "Why not, sometimes, regale admiring friends "WithGreek and Latin sprinklings,odds and ends? "Exert your talents; read, and read to write! "As Horace says, mix profit with delight." 'Tis rare advice; but I am slow to mend, Smit with the Muse, 'tis true, I sought her charms; All unambitious of superior praise, prose, By butcher critics, worth's confed'rate foes. If then the Muse no more shall strive to please, Lull'd in the happy lethargy of ease; If, unadvent'rous, she forbear to sing, Nor take one thought to plume her ruffled wing; When desp❜rate robbers, issuing from the waste, As for Myself, I own the present charge; Lazy and lounging, I confess at large: Yet Ease, perhaps, may loose her silken chains, And the next hour become an hour of pains. We write, we read, we act, we think, by fits, And follow all things as the humour hits; For of all pleasures, which the world can bring, Variety O! dear variety's the thing! |