Howe hath an ample orb of foul, Where fhining worlds of knowledge roll, The DISAPPOINTMENT and RELIEF. VIRTUE, permit my fancy to impofe She cafts fweet fallacies on half our woes, How could we bear this tedious round Of waning moons, and rolling years, Love, the moft cordial ftream that flows, Is a deceitful good: Young Doris, who nor guilt nor danger knows, On the green margin stood, Pleas'd with the golden bubbles as they rofe, And with more golden fands her fancy pav'd the flood: And tempted by a faithlefs youth, Darkness Darkness and naufeous dregs arife O'er thy fair current, love, with large fupplies Of pain to teaze the heart, and forrow for the eyes. The golden blifs that charm'd her fight Is dafh'd, and drown'd, and loft: Recover'd from the sad surprize, Grown by the difappointment wife; eyes, And makes her fovereign beauty bow; The Hero's School of Morality. THERON, amongst his travels, found, And fearching onward as he went Mould, mofs, and fhades, had overgrown "Enough, he cry'd; I'll drudge no more "In turning the dull Stoics o'er; "Let pedants waste their hours of ease "To fweat all night at Socrates; "And feed their boys with notes and rules, "With greater ease the great concern "Methinks a mouldering pyramid "The duft of heroes caft abroad, “And kick'd, and trampled in the road, "The relicks of a lofty mind, "That lately wars and crowns design'd, "The towering heights, and frightful falls, "Of fmoaking kingdoms and their kings, "That living could not bear to fee "With folemn horror, thy fad fate, Thy carcafe, fcatter'd on the fhore "Without a name, inftructs me more “Than my whole library before. "Lie ftill, my Plutarch, then, and sleep, "And my good Seneca may keep "Your volumes clos'd for ever too, "I have no further use for you: "For when I feel my virtue fail, "And my ambitious thoughts prevail, "I'll take a turn among the tombs, "And fee whereto all glory comes: "There the vile foot of every clown "Tamples the fons of honour down. "Beggars with awful afhes fport, "And tread the Cæfars in the dirt." TEM FREE DO M. 1697. EMPT me no more. My foul can ne'er comport I've an averfion to those charms, And hug dear liberty in both mine arms. Then run in troops before him to compose his state; Bend when he speaks; and kifs the ground: Wait till he fmiles: But lo, the idol frown'd Thus bafe-born minds: but as for Me, I can and will be free: Like a ftrong mountain, or some stately tree, My foul grows firm upright, And as I ftand, and as I go, It keeps my body fo; No, I can never part with my creation-right. Let flaves and affes ftoop and bow, 5 I can |