Of which my modicum I sip,
With narrow mouth and slender lip,
At once, although by nature dumb,
All eloquent I have become,
And speak with fluency untir'd,
As if by Phoebus' self inspir'd.

TO HEALTH.

ELDEST born of pow'rs divine !
Blest Hygeia! be it mine,

To enjoy what thou canst give,
And henceforth with thee to live.
For in pow'r if pleasure be,
Wealth, or num'rous progeny,
Or in amorous embrace,

Where no spy infests the place;
Or in aught that Heav'n bestows
To alleviate human woes,
When the weary heart despairs
Of a respite from its cares;
These and ev'ry true delight
Flourish only in thy sight;
And the sister Graces Three

Owe, themselves, their youth to thee,
Without whom we may possess

Much, but never happiness.

25*

ON

THE ASTROLOGERS.

TH' Astrologers did all alike presage My uncle's dying in extreme old age, One only disagreed. But he was wise, And spoke not, till he heard the fun'ral cries.

ON

AN OLD WOMAN.

MYCILLA dyed her locks, 'tis said;

But 'tis a foul aspersion,

She buys them black; they therefore need
No subsequent immersion.

ON INVALIDS.

FAR happier are the dead, methinks, than they, Who look for death, and fear it ev'ry day.

ON FLATTERERS.

No mischief worthier of our fear
In nature can be found,
Than friendship, in ostent sincere
But hollow and unsound,

For lull'd into a dangerous dream,
We close infold a foe,

Who strikes, when most secure we seem,
Th' inevitable blow.

ON THE SWALLOW.

ATTICK maid! with honey fed,

Bear'st thou to thy callow brood

Yonder locust from the mead,

Destin'd their delicious food!

Ye have kindred voices clear,
Ye alike unfold the wing,
Migrate hither, sojourn here,
Both attendant on the spring!

Ah for pity drop the prize;

Let it not, with truth, be said,

That a songster gasps and dies,
That a songster may be fed.

ON

LATE ACQUIRED WEALTH.

Poor in my youth, and in life's later scenes

Rich to no end, I curse my natal hour:

Who naught enjoy'd, while young, deny'd the means, And naught, when old, enjoy'd, deny'd the pow'r.

ON

A TRUE FRIEND.

HAST thou a friend? Thou hast indeed
A rich and large supply,
Treasure to serve your ev'ry need,

Well manag'd, till you

die.

ON

A BATH, BY PLATO.

DID Cytherea to the skies

From this pellucid lymph arise?

Or was it Cytherea's touch,

When bathing here, that made it such.

ON

A FOWLER, BY ISIODORUS.

WITH Seeds and birdlime, from the desert air,
Eumelus gather'd free, though scanty, fare.
No lordly patron's hand he deign'd to kiss,
Nor lux'ry knew, save liberty, nor bliss.
Thrice thirty years he liv'd, and to his heirs
His seeds bequeath'd, his birdlime, and his snares.

ON NIOBE.

CHARON! receive a family on board,
Itself sufficient for thy crazy yawl;
Apollo and Diana, for a word

By me too proudly spoken, slew us all.

ON A GOOD MAN.

TRAV'LLER, regret not me; for thou shalt find
Just cause of sorrow none in my decease,
Who, dying, children's children left behind,
And with one wife liv'd many years in peace:
Three virtuous youths espous'd my daughters three,
And oft their infants in my bosom lay,

Nor saw I one, of all deriv'd from me,

Touch'd with disease, or torn by death away.
Their duteous hands my fun'ral rites bestow'd
And me, by blameless manners fitted well
To seek it, sent to the serene abode,
Where shades of pious men for ever dwell.