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The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire
The lily and rose, that neither sowed nor spun. What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,
Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise
To hear the lute well touched, or artful voice
He who of those delights can judge, and spare
TO CYRIAC SKINNER.
CYRIAC! whose grandsire on the royal bench
Of British Themis, with no mean applause
Which others at their bar so often wrench;
In mirth, that, after, no repenting draws;
And what the Swede intends, and what the French.
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;
For other things mild Heaven a time ordains,
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
TO THE SAME.
CYRIAC ! this three years' day these eyes, though clear,
To outward view, of blemish or of spot,
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not
Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask?
The conscience, Friend, to have lost them overplied
In Liberty's defence, my noble task,
This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask
ON HIS DECEASED WIFE.
METHOUGHT I saw my late espoused saint
Brought to me, like Alcestis, from the grave,
Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint.
Purification in the old law did save,
Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint,
Her face was veiled; yet to my fancied sight
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined
But, oh! as to embrace me she inclined,
THE FIFTH ODE OF HORACE, LIB. I. Quis multo gracilis te puer in rosa, rendered almost word
for won', without rhyme, according to the Latin measure, as near as the language will permit. WHAT slender youth, bedewed with liquid odours, Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave,
Pyrrha ? for whom bind'st thou
In wreaths thy golden hair,
Rough with black winds and storms
Unwonted shall admire !
Hopes thee, of flattering gales
Unmindful. Hapless they
My dark and dropping weeds
BRUTUS thus addresses Diana in the country of Leogecia.
GODDESS of shades, and huntress! who at will
On thy third reign, the earth, look now, and tell
For aye, with temples vowed and virgin quires.
Ay, Constantine! of how much ill was cause,
THEN passed he to a flowery mountain green,
WHOM do we count a good man? Whom but he
FROM EURIPIDES. This is true liberty, when freeborn men, Having to advise the public, may speak free; Which he who can, and will, deserves high praise, Who neither can, nor will, may hold his peace: What can be juster in a state than this ?
LAUGHING, to teach the truth, What hinders? As some teachers give to boys Junkets and knacks, that they may learn apace.
- JOKING decides great things, Stronger and better oft than earnest can.
FROM SOPHOCLES. 'Tis you that say it, not I. You do the deeds, And your ungodly deeds find me the words.
There can be slain