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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 season 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 shoot
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 master comes along ;
Lusty Revel join'd with Laughter,
Whim and Frolic follow after :
The fauns aside the vats remain,
To show the work, and reap the gain.
All around, and all around,
They fit to riot on the ground;
A vessel stands amidst the ring,
And here they laugh, and there they fing:
Or rise a jolly jolly band,
And dance about it hand in hand;
Dance about, and shout amain,
Then fit to laugh and sing again.
Thus they drink, and thus they play
The sun and all their wits away.

But, as an ancient author sung,
The vine manur'd with every dung,
From every creature strangely drew
A twang of brutal nature too;
'T was hence in drinking on the lawns
New turns of humour seiz'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 same 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 shade;
While loose discourse another raises
In naked Nature's plainest phrases,
And every glass he drinks enjoys,
With change of nonsense, lust, 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 swine.

Here some who hardly seem 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 say be true)
While Bacchus made the merry feast,
Inclin'd to one or other beaft:
And fince, 'tis said, for many a mile
He spread the vines of Lesbos isle.

THE HORSE AND THE OLIVE.

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W
Irh moral tale let ancient Wisdom move,

Whilst thus I fing to make the moderns wise:
Strong Neptune once with sage Minerva ftrove,

And rising Athens was the victor's prize.
By Neptune, Plutus (guardian power of gain);

By great Minerva, bright Apollo stood :
But Jove superior bade the fide obtain,

Which best contriv'd to do the nation good.
Then Neptune striking, from the parted ground

The warlike Horse 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.

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The Goddess, smiling, gently bow'd her spear,

And rather thus they shall be bless’d, she said : Then upwards shooting in the vernal air,

With loaded boughs the fruitful Olive spread. Jove law what gift the rural powers design'd;

And took th' impartial scales, resolv'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, safety, science, arts, and ease,

Minerva's scale with greater weight supply'd. Fierce War devours whom gentle Peace would save:

Sweet Peace restores 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 wise 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 just rules to chuse the truly great, And subjects weary'd with diftreffes find,

Whose kind endeavours moft befriend the state. 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 souls approve,

Whose cares restore that wealth the wars had loft. But if we ask, the moral to disclose,

Whom her best patroness 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 conquest flew; Whene'er the 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 passage through my swelling eyes ; To laugh or weep at fins, might idly show Unheedful paffion, or unfruitful woe. Satire! arife, and try thy sharper ways, If ever satire cur'd an old disease. Is not Religion (heaven-descended dame) As worthy all our soul's devouteft 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 strong to vanquish earthly love, As earthly glory, fame, respect, 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 shall thy father's spirit meet the fight Of heathen sages cloath'd in heavenly light,

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