But we, when once our race is done,
With Tullus, and Anchifes' fon,

(Though rich like one, like t'other good) To duft and shades, without a fun, Descend, and fink in deep oblivion's flood.

Who knows, if the kind gods will give
Another day to men that live
In hope of many diftant years;
Or if one night more shall retrieve

25

The joys thou losest by thy idle fears ?

30

The pleasant hours thou spend'ft in health,
The ufe thou mak'ft of youth and wealth,
As what thou giv'ft among thy friends
Escapes thy heirs, fo those the stealth

Of time and death, where good and evil ends. 35

For when that comes, nor birth, nor fame,
Nor piety, nor honest name,

Can e'er restore thee.

Thefeus bold,

Nor chafte Hippolitus could tame

Devouring Fate, that spares nor young nor old.

S Ỏ N G,

BY CHARLES COTTON, ESQ.*

I.

FIE, pretty Doris! weep no more,
Damon is doubtless safe on fhoar,

Defpight of wind and wave;
The life is fate-free that you cherish,
And 'tis unlike he now should perish
You once thought fit to fave.

II.

Dry (fweet) at last, those twins of light,
Which whilft eclips'd, with us 'tis night,

And all of us are blind:

5

And doubtless he, for whom you pray,

May laugh at destiny.

Born 1630; dyed 1688.

15

IV.

Still then those tempefts of your breast,
And fet that pretty heart at reft,

The man will foon return:
Those fighs for heav'n are only fit,
Arabian gums are not so sweet,

Nor off'rings when they burn.

V.

On him you lavish grief in vain,
Can't be lamented, nor complain,
Whilft you continue true :

That

man' disaster is above,

And needs no pity, that does love

And is belov'd by you.

20

25

30

THE MORNING QUATRAINS.

BY THE SAME.

I.

THE cock has crow'd an hour ago,

'Tis time we now dull fleep forgo; Tir'd nature is by fleep redrefs'd, And labour's overcome by rest.

V. 29. man's.

II.

We have out-done the work of night,
"Tis time we rife t'attend the light,
And e'er he shall his beams difplay,
To plot new bus'nefs for the day.

III.

None but the flothfull, or unfound,

Are by the fun in feathers found,
Nor, without rifing with the fun,

Can the world's bus'nefs e'er be done,

IV.

Hark! hark! the watchfull chanticleer
Tells us the day's bright harbinger

Peeps o'er the Eastern hills, to awe

And warn night's fov'reign to withdraw.

V.

The morning curtains now are drawn,

And now appears the blushing dawn;
Aurora has her roses shed,

To ftrew the way Sol's steeds must tread. 20

VI.

Xanthus and Ethon harnefs'd are,

To roll away the burning carr,

And, fnorting flame, impatient bear
The dreffing of the chariotier.

VII.

The fable cheeks of fullen Night

Are ftreak'd with rofie streams of light,

Whilft she retires away in fear,

To shade the other hemifphere.

The

VIII.

25

merry lark now takes her wings, And long'd-for days loud wellcome fings, 30 Mounting her body out of fight,

As if she meant to meet the light.

IX.

Now doors and windows are unbar'd,
Each-where are chearfull voices heard,
And round about good-morrows fly,
As if day taught humanity.

X.

The chimnies now to smoke begin,
And the old wife fits down to spin,

Whilft Kate, taking her pail, does trip

35

Mulls fwoln and ftradl'ing paps to ftrip. 40

XI.

Vulcan now makes his anvil ring,

Dick whistles loud, and Maud doth fing,

And Silvio with his bugle horn