The loads they wheel, the roots they bare, They lay the rich manure with care; While oft he calls to labour hard,

And names as oft the red reward.

The plants refresh'd, new leaves appear,
The thickening clusters load the year;
The feason swiftly purple grew,

The grapes hung dangling deep with blue.
A vineyard ripe, a day ferene
Now calls them all to work again.
The fauns through every furrow fhoot
To load their flaskets with the fruit ;
And now the vintage early trod,
The wines invite the jovial God.
Strow the roses, raise the song,
See the mafter comes along ;
Lufty Revel join'd with Laughter,
Whim and Frolic follow after :
The fauns afide the vats remain,

To show the work, and reap the gain.
All around, and all around,

They fit to riot on the ground;

A veffel stands amidst the ring,

And here they laugh, and there they fing:

Or rife a jolly jolly band,

And dance about it hand in hand;

Dance about, and fhout amain,

Then fit to laugh and fing again.
Thus they drink, and thus they play.
The fun and all their wits away.

But, as an ancient author fung,
The vine manur'd with every dung,
From every creature ftrangely drew
A twang of brutal nature too;
"T was hence in drinking on the lawns
New turns of humour feiz'd the fauns.

Here one was crying out, By Jove!
Another, Fight me in the grove;
This wounds a friend, and that the trees;
The lion's temper reign'd in these.
Another grins, and leaps about,
And keeps a merry world of rout,
And talks impertinently free,
And twenty talk the fame as he :
Chattering, idle, airy, kind:

These take the monkeys turn of mind,

Here one, that saw the Nymphs which stood

To peep upon them from the wood,
Skulks off to try if any maid

Be lagging late beneath the fhade;
While loose difcourfe another raises
In naked Nature's plaineft phrases,
And every glass he drinks enjoys,
With change of nonfenfe, luft, and noise;
Mad and careless, hot and vain :
Such as these the

goat retain.

Another drinks and casts it up, And drinks, and wants another cup;

Solemn, filent, and fedate,

Ever long, and ever late,

Full of meats, and full of wine:

This takes his temper from the fwine.

Here fome who hardly feem to breathe,
Drink, and hang the jaw beneath.
Gaping, tender, apt to weep:
Their nature's alter'd by the sheep.

'Twas thus one autumn all the crew
(If what the Poets fay be true)
While Bacchus made the merry feast,
Inclin'd to one or other beast:
And fince, 'tis faid, for many a mile
He spread the vines of Lefbos ifle.

THE HORSE AND THE OLIVE.

WITH moral tale let ancient Wisdom move,
Whilft thus I fing to make the moderns wife :
Strong Neptune once with fage Minerva ftrove,
And rifing Athens was the victor's prize.
By Neptune, Plutus (guardian power of gain);
By great Minerva, bright Apollo ftood:
But Jove fuperior bade the fide obtain,

Which beft contriv'd to do the nation good.
Then Neptune ftriking, from the parted ground
The warlike Horfe came pawing on the plain,
And as it tost its mane, and pranc'd around,
By this, he cries, I'll make the people reign.

The Goddess, smiling, gently bow'd her spear, And rather thus they shall be bless'd, she said: Then upwards fhooting in the vernal air,

With loaded boughs the fruitful Olive spread. Jove faw what gift the rural powers defign'd; And took th' impartial scales, refolv'd to show, If greater bliss in warlike pomp we find,

Or in the calm which peaceful times bestow. On Neptune's part he plac'd victorious days, Gay trophies won, and fame extending wide; But plenty, fafety, fcience, arts, and ease,

Minerva's fcale with greater weight supply'd. Fierce War devours whom gentle Peace would fave: Sweet Peace reftores what angry War deftroys; War made for Peace, with that rewards the brave, While Peace its pleasures from itself enjoys. Hence vanquish'd Neptune to the sea withdrew, Hence wife Minerva rul'd Athenian lands; Her Athens hence in arts and honours grew, And still her Olives deck pacific hands. From fables, thus disclos'd, a monarch's mind May form juft rules to chufe the truly great, And subjects weary'd with diftreffes find,

Whofe kind endeavours moft befriend the ftate. Ev'n Britain here may learn to place her love,

If cities won, her kingdom's wealth have coft; If Anna's thoughts the patriot fouls approve,

Whose cares restore that wealth the wars had lost.

But if we ask, the moral to disclose,

Whom her beft patronefs Europa calls, Great Anna's title no exception knows,

And unapply'd in this the fable falls.

With her nor Neptune or Minerva vies :

Whene'er the pleas'd, her troops to conqueft flew; Whene'er she pleases, peaceful times arise : She gave the Horse, and gives the Olive too.

DR. DONNE's THIRD SATIRE VERSIFIED.

COMPASSION checks my spleen, yet scorn denies
The tears a paffage through my fwelling eyes;
To laugh or weep at fins, might idly show
Unheedful paffion, or unfruitful woe.
Satire! arife, and try thy fharper ways,
If ever fatire cur'd an old disease.
Is not Religion (heaven-defcended dame)
As worthy all our foul's devoutest flame,
As moral Virtue in her early sway,
When the best Heathens faw by doubtful day?
Are not the joys, the promis'd joys above,
As great and ftrong to vanquish earthly love,
As earthly glory, fame, refpect, and show,
As all rewards their virtue found below?
Alas! Religion proper means prepares,

These means are ours, and must its end be theirs?
And fhall thy father's fpirit meet the fight

Of heathen fages cloath'd in heavenly light,