Puslapio vaizdai
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The dustman lashes on with spiteful rage,
His ponderous spokes thy painted wheel engage,
Cruth'd is thy pride, down falls the shrieking beau,
The flabby pavement cryftal fragments ftrow,
Black floods of mire th' embroider'd coat disgrace,
And mud enwraps the honours of his face.
So when dread Jove the fon of Phoebus hurld,
Scar'd with dark thunder, to the nether world;
The headstrong coursers tore the silver reins,
And the sun's beamy ruin gilds the plains.

Ρ Α Ν Α C E Α.

WELCOME

OR, THE GRAND RESTORATIVE.

{GRA VES.]
TELCOME to Baia's streams, ye sons of fpleen,

Who rove from spa to spa--to shift the scene.
While round the streaming fount you idly throng,
Come, learn a wholesome secret from my song.

Ye fair, whose roses feel th' approaching frost,
And drops supply the place of spirits loft:
Ye'squires, who rack'd with gouts, at heav'n repine,
Condema'd to water for excess in wine :
Ye portly cits, fo corpulent and full,
Who eat and drink 'till appetite grows dull:
For whets and bitters then unstring the purse,
Whilst nature more opprest grows worse and worse:
Dupes to the craft of pill-prescribing leaches :
You nod or laugh at what the parson preaches:
Hear then a rhiming-quack, who spurns your wealth,
And gratis gives a lure receipt for health.
No more thus vainly rove o'er sea and land,
When lo! a sovereign remedy's at hand;
'Tis temperance-stale cant!'Tis fasting then;
Heav'n's antidote against the fins of men.
Foul luxury's the cause of all your pain:
To scour th' obstructed glands, abstain! abstain !
Fast and take reft, ye candidates for sleep,
Who from high food tormenting vigils keep:
Fast and be fat--thou starveling in a gown ;
Ye bloated, faft-'will surely

bring you down.

Ye

Ye nymphs that pine o'er chocolate and rolls,
Hence take fresh bloom, fresh vigour to your fouls.
Fast and fear not-you'll need no drop nor pill:
Hunger may ftarve, excess is sure to kill.
CLAUDIAN'S OLD MAN OF VERONA.

[COWLEY.]
JAPPY the man, who bis whole time doth bound
Happy the man, whom the same humble place
(Th hereditary cottage of his race)
From his first rising infancy has known,
And by degrees sees gently bending down,
With natural propension, to that earth
Which both preferv'd his life, and gave him birth,
Him no false diftant lights, by fortune fet,
Could ever into foolish wand'rings get.
He never dangers either saw or feard :
The dreadful storms at sea he never heard.
He never heard the shrill alarms of war,
Or the worse noises of the lawyers bar.
No change of consuls marks to him the year,
The change of seasons is his calendar,
The cold and heat, winter and summer shows;
Autumn by fruits, spring by Aowers he knows.
He measures time by land-marks, and has found
For the whole day the dial of his ground.
A neighbouring wood, born with himself, he fees,
And loves his own contemporary trees.
He has only heard of near Verona's name,
And knows it, like the Indies, but by fame.
Does with a like concernment notice take
Of the Red-fea, and of Benacus' lakes
Thus health and strength he to a third age enjoys,
And sees a long posterity of boys.
About the spacious world let others roam,
The voyage, life, is longest made at home.
On SOLI T U DE.

(COWLEY.]

I.
SAIL, old patrician trees, fo great and good!
Hail, ye plebeian underwood !

Where

HA

D 2

Where the poetic birds rejoice,
And for their quiet nests and plenteous food
Pay with their grateful voice.

II.
Hail, the poor muses richest manor seat!

Ye country houses and retreat,

Which all the happy gods so love,
That for you oft they quit their bright and great
Metropolis above.

III.
Here nature does a house for me erect;

Nature the wisest architect,

Who those fond artists does despise
That can the fair and living trees neglect,
Yet the dead timber prize.

IV.
Here, let me, careless and unthoughtful lying,

Hear the soft winds, above me Aying,

With all their wanton boughs difpute,
And the more tuneful birds to both replying,
Nor be myself, too, mute.

V..
A silver stream shall roul his waters near,

Gilt with the sun-beams here and there,

On whose enamelld bank I'll walk,
And see how prettily they smile, and hear
How prettily they talk.

VI.
Ah wretched and too solitary he,

Who loves not his own company!

He'll feel the weight of't many a day,
Unless he call in sin or vanity
To help to bear't away.

VLI.
Oh solitude, first state of human-kind!

Which bleit remain'd, till man did find

Evin his own helper's company.
As soon as two (alas !) together join'd,
The serpent made up three.

VIII.
Tho' God himself, through countless ages, thee

His wie companion chose to be,
Thee, sacred folitude, alone,
Before the branchy head of number's tree
Sprang froin the trunk of one.

Thou

IX.
Thou (tho? men think thine an unactive part)
Doft break and came th? unruly heart,

Which else would know no settled pace,
Making it move well manag'd by thy art,
With swiftness and with

grace.

X.
Thou the faint beams of reason's scatter'd light

Dost, like a burning glass, unite,

Daft multiply the feeble heat,
And fortify the strength, till thou doft bright
And noble fires beget..

XI.
Whilst this hard truth I teach, methinks, I see

The monster London laugh at me;

I should at thee too, foolish city;
If it were fit to laugh at misery;
But thy estate I pity.

XII.
Let but thy wicked men from out thee go,

And all the fools that crowd thee so,

Even thou, who dost thy millions boast, A village less than Illington will grow,

A solitude almoft.

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(PARNELL.]
TAR in a wild, unknown to public view,
F grew;
The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,
His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well:
Remote from Man, with God he pafs'd the days,
Pray'r all his business, all his pleasure praise.

A life so facred, such ferene repose,
Seem'd heav'n itself, 'till one suggestion rose;
That vice should triumph, virtue vice obey,
This sprung some doubt of providence's sway:
His hopes no more a certain prospect boast,
And all the tenour of his soul is loft:
So when a smooth expanse receives imprest
Calm nature's image on its

wat'ry breast,

D 3

Down

Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow,
And skies beneath with answering colours glow:
But if a stone the gentle sea divide,
Swift ruffling circles curl on ev'ry side,
And glimm'ring fragments of a broken fun,
Banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run.

To clear this doubt, to know the world by sight,
To find if books, or swains, report it right;
(For yet by swains alone the world he knew,
Whose feet came wand'ring o'er the nightly dew)
He quits his cell; the pilgrim-staff he bore,
And fix'd the scallop in his hat before;
Then with the fun a rising journey went,
Sedate to think, and watching each event.

The morn was wasted in the pathless grass,
And long and lonesome was the wild to pass;
But when the Southern sun had warm’d the day,
A youth came posting o'er a croffing way;
His rayment decent, his complexion fair,
And soft in graceful ringlets way'd his hair.
Then near approaching, Father, hail! he cry'd;
And hail, my fon! the rev'rend fire reply'd;
Words follow'd words, from question answer Aow'd,
And talk of various kind deceiv'd the road;
'Till each with other pleas'd, and loth to part,
While in their age they differ, join in heart:
Thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound,
Thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around.

Now funk the sun; the closing hour of day
Came onward, mantled o'er with fober grey ;
Nature in silence bid the world repose :
When near the road a stately palace rose:
There by the moon through ranks of trees they pass,
Whofe verdure crown'd their sloping sides of grass.
It chanc'd the noble master of the dome
Still made his house the wand'ring stranger's home:
Yet still the kindnefs, from the thirft of praise,
Prov'd the vain flourish of expensive ease.
The pair arrive: the liv'ry'd fervants wait;
Their lord receives them at the pompous gate.
The table groans with costly piles of food,
And all is more than hospitably good.
Then led to rest, the day's long toil they drown,
Deep funk in sleep, and filk, and heaps of down.

At

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