English

" Say, what is Friendship, but a name, "
When friend can ne'er on friend rely?
'Tis chaos, built on airy same,
That wants the Sympathizing Sigh!

I hate the fiend, whose vaulted praise
Can prosfer all, yet all deny;
Whose deeds dissimulation sways,
And seigns the Sympathizing Sigh.

But he who scorns the mean deceit,
And sheds a tear when Sorrow 's by,
His friendship is supremely sweet,

In early youth Clorinda 's chains I wore,
And still unchang'd the lovely fair adore:
No other female charms have pow'r to please,
And make me languish in inglorious ease;
No other nymph in country, town, or court,
Where gentle belles, and gentler beaux resort,
Tho' practis'd in the soft inveigling art,
Can boast a conquest o'er my faithful heart.

May the bright lustre of her sparkling eyes
Have pow'r to make no other slave her prize!
May no conceited fop her favour boast,

Bright Sol had to his Thetis gone,
And Night, her starry Mantle on,
Invited Luna to appear,
And deck with Light the Hemisphere:
The pale-fac'd Goddess, gently 'rose,
And Colin sought his wish'd Repose.
In balmy Sleep the Shepherd lay,
When he, by Fancy led astray,
Imagines, that himself he found
The Owner of a Waste of Ground,
Whereon a stately Palace stood,
Encompass'd by a beauteous Wood.
That busy Crouds of servile Slaves,
And sly insinuating Knaves,
Attend his Nod, and all he says,

Say not, O man! for it becomes thee not,
This evil shall not happen to my lot.

Him I esteem most virtuous of mankind
Who bears offences with a patient mind.

As in a round wide view from some tall hill,
Central and isolate, it happeneth oft
The furthest things on all sides eyeable
Are village temples tapering to the skies,
Be such, too, the horizon of the soul;
And every ultimate object, unto Heaven
Calmly aspiring, indicate its end,
And sanctify the limits of our life.
For as in gentlest exhalations earth
Breathes forth the glistening steams which high in air
Glow, sunlipped, into clouds of rosy gold,
Or seek again her breast in fruitful dew;

The rose is weeping for her love,
The Nightingale;
And he is flying fast above,
To her he will not fail.
Already golden eve appears,
He wings his way along;
Ah! look, he comes to kiss her tears,
And soothe her with his song.

The moon in pearly light may steep
The still blue air;
The rose hath ceased to droop and weep,
For lo! her love is there.
He sings to her, and o'er the trees
She hears his sweet notes swim;
The world may weary; she but sees
Her love, and hears but him.

Blest are the wealthy who abound in sense,
Which gives a noble sanction to expence:
This, this should be the son of fortune's care,
The weight of wealth with equal mind to bear;
For riches oft deprave the human will,
And turn the bias of the mind to ill.

Folly, Vice and Pride,
My Pen must deride,
Where-ever they are known to reign;
Tho' with Fortune blest,
And in Titles drest,
It shall ne'er damp the Critic Strain:
I despise the Set,
Who, themselves forget,
And are of Fortune's Favours vain,

2.

View our Royal King,
See all Virtues spring
Within his lovely sacred Breast;
Nature's Favourite,
Form'd Love to excite,
With Fortune's Bounties amply blest:

No good in life the race of men can see,
Spring from one root, as branches from the tree;
But near the good we find the evil still,
And frequent good arises out of ill.