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Ante larem proprium placidam expectare senectam,
Tum demùm exactis non infeliciter annis,
Sortiri tacitum lapidem, aut sub cespite condi!

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TIME was when I was free as air,
The thistles downy feed my fare,

My drink the morning dew;
I perch'd at will on ev'ry spray,
My form genteel, my plumage gay,

My strains for ever new.

II.

But gawdy plumage, sprightly strain,
And form genteel were all in vain,

And of a transient date,
For caught and cag'd and starv’d to death,
In dying fighs my little breath

Soon pass’d the wiry grate.

III.

Thanks, gentle swain, for all my woes,
And thanks for this effectual close

And

And cure of ev'ry ill !
More cruelty could none express,
And I, if you had shewn me less

Had been your pris'ner still.

The PINE APPLE and tbe BEE.

THE pine apples in triple row,
Were basking hot and all in blow,
A bee of most discerning taste
Perceiv'd the fragrance as he pass’d,
On eager wing the spoiler caine,
And search'd for crannies in the frame,
Urg'd his attempt on ev'ry fide,
To ev'ry pane his trunk applied,
But still in vain, the frame was tight,
And only pervious to the light.
Thus having wasted half the day,
He wing’d his flight another way.

Methinks, I said, in thee I find
The fin and madness of mankind;
To joys forbidden man aspires,
Consumes his soul with vain desires ;
Folly the spring of his pursuit,
And disappointment all the fruit.

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While Cynthio ogles as she passes
The nymph between two chariot glasses,
She is the pine apple, and he
The filly unsuccessful bee.
The maid who views with pensive air
The show-glass fraught with glitt'ring ware,
Sees watches, bracelets, rings, and lockets,
But sighs at thought of empty pockets,
Like thine, her appetite is keen,
But ah the cruel glass between!

Our dear delights are often such,
Expos’d to view but not to touch ;
The sight our foolish heart inflames,
We long for pine apples in frames,
With hopeless with one looks and lingers,
One breaks the glass and cuts his fingers,
But they whom truth and wisdom lead,
Can gather honey from a weed.

HORACE HORACE. Book the 2d. ODE the roth.

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RECEIVE, dear friend, the truths I teach,
So shalt thou live beyond the reach

Of adverse fortune's pow'r ;
Not always tempt the distant deep,
Nor always tinorously creep,

Along the treach'rous shore.

II.,
He that holds fast the golden meang
And lives contentedly between

The little and the great ;
Feels not the wants that pinch the poor,
Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door,

Imbitt'ring all his state.

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The tallest pines feel most the pow'r
Of wintry blasts, the loftiest tow'r

Comes hea viest to the ground;
The bolts that spare the mountain's side,
His cloud-capt eminence divide,
And spread the ruin round..

IV. The

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IV.

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The well inform'd philosopher
Rejoices with an wholesome fear,

And hopes in spite of pain ;
If winter beilow from the north,
Soon the sweet spring comes dancing forth,

And nature laughs again.

V.
What if thine heav'n be overcast,
The dark appearance will not lait,

Expect a brighter fky;
The God that strings the filver bow,
Awakes sometimes the muses too,

And lays his arrows by.

VI.

If hindrances obftru&t thy way,
Thy magnanimity display,

And let thy ftrength be seen;
But oh! if Fortune fill thy fail
With more than a propitious gale,

Take half thy canvass in.

A REFLEC.

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