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Unask'd, what good thou knowest grant;
What ill, though ask'd, deny.

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I have found where the wood-pigeons breed;
But let me that plunder forbear!

She will say, 'tis a barbarous deed.
For he ne'er can be true, she averr'd,
Who can rob a poor bird of its young:
And I lov'd her the more, when I heard
Such tenderness fall from her tongue.

Epitaph.

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth,
A youth to fortune and to fame unknown;
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ;
Heav'n did a recompense as largely send :
He gave to mis'ry all he had a tear;

He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,

(There they alike in trembling hope repose,)

The bosom of his Father and his God.

Joy and Sorrow connected.

Still, where rosy pleasure leads,

See a kindred grief pursue,
Behind the steps that mis'ry treads,
Approaching comforts view.

The hues of bliss more brightly glow,
Chastis'd by sable tints of woe :
And blended form, with artful strife,
The strength and harmony of life.

The Golden Mean.

He that holds fast the golden mean,
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.

The tallest pines feel most the pow'r
Of wintry blast; the loftiest tow'r

Comes heaviest to the ground.

The bolts that spare the mountain's side,
His cloud-capt eminence divide;

And spread the ruin round.

Moderate views and aims recommended.
With passions unruffled, untainted with pride,
By reason my life let me square:

The wants of my nature are cheaply supplied;
And the rest are but folly and care.
How vainly through infinite trouble and strife,
The many their labours employ !
Since all that is truly delightful in life,
Is what all, if they please, may enjoy.
Attachment to life.
The tree of deepest root is found
Least willing still to quit the ground:
"Twas therefore said, by ancient sages,
That love of life increas'd with years,
So much, that in our later stages,
When pains grow sharp, and sickness rages,
The greatest love of life appears.

Virtue's address to pleasure.*
Vast happiness enjoy thy gay allies!
A youth of follies, an old age of cares;
Young yet enervate, old yet never wise,

Vice wastes their vigour, and their mind impairs.
Vain, idle, delicate, in thoughtless ease,

Reserving woes for age, their prime they spend;

All wretched, hopeless, in the evil days,

With sorrow to the verge of life they tend.
Griev'd with the present, of the past asham'd,

They live and are despis'd; they die, nor more are nam'd.
SECTION V.

VERSES IN WHICH SOUND CORRESPONDS TO SIGNIFICATION.

Smooth and rough verse.

Soft is the strain when zephyr gentle blows,

And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows.
But when loud surges lash the sounding shore,
The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent røar.
Slow motion imitated.

When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw,
The line too labours, and the words move slow.

* Sensual pleasure.

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Pensive Numbers.

In those deep solitudes, and awful cells,
Where heav'nly pensive contemplation dwells,
And ever musing melancholy reigns.

Battle.

-Arms on armour clashing bray'd

Horrible discord; and the madding wheels
Of brazen fury rag'd.

Sound imitating Reluctance.
For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd;
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind?
SECTION VI.

PARAGRAPHS OF GREATER LENGTH.
Connubial Affection.

THE love that cheers life's latest stage,
Proof against sickness and old age,
Preserv'd by virtue from declension,
Becomes not weary of attention:
But lives, when that exterior grace,
Which first inspir'd the flame, decays.
'Tis gentle, delicate, and kind,
To faults compassionate, or blind;
And will with sympathy endure
Those evils it would gladly cure.
But angry, coarse, and harsh expression,
Shows love to be a mere profession;
Proves that the heart is none of his,
Or soon expels him if it is.

Swarms of flying Insects.

Thick in yon stream of light, a thousand ways,
Upward and downward, thwarting and convolv'd,
The quivering nations sport; till, tempest wing'd,
Fierce winter sweeps them from the face of day.
Ev'n so, luxurious men, unheeding, pass
An idle summer life, in fortune's shine,
A season's glitter! Thus they flutter on,
From toy to toy; from vanity to vice;
Till, blown away by death, oblivion comes
Behind, and strikes them from the book of life.
Beneficence its own Reward.

My fortune (for I'll mention all,

And more than you dare tell) is small;

Yet ev'ry friend partakes my store,
And want goes smiling from my door.
Will forty shillings warm the breast
Of worth or industry distrest?
This sum I cheerfully impart ;
'Tis fourscore pleasures to my heart;
And you may make, by means like theşe,
Five talents ten, whene'er you please.
'Tis true my little purse grows light;
But then I sleep so sweet at night!
This grand specific will prevail,
When all the doctor's opiates fail.

Virtue the best Treasure.

Virtue, the strength and beauty of the soul,
Is the best gift of Heaven: a happiness,
That, even above the smiles and frowns of fate,
Exalts great nature's favourites: a wealth
That ne'er encumbers; nor to baser hands
Can be transferr'd. It is the only good
Man justly boasts of, or can call his own.
Riches are oft by guilt and baseness earn'd.
But for one end, one much neglected use,
Are riches worth our care; (for nature's wants
Are few, and without opulence supplied ;)
This noble end is to produce the soul;
To shew the virtues in their fairest light;
And make humanity the minister

Of bounteous Providence.

Contemplation.

As yet 'tis midnight deep. The weary clouds,
Slow meeting, mingle into solid gloom.
Now, while the drowsy world lies lost in sleep,
Let me associate with the serious night,
And contemplation her sedate compeer;
Let me shake off the intrusive cares of day,
And lay the meddling senses all aside.
Where now, ye lying vanities of life!
Ye ever tempting, ever cheating train!
Where are you now? and what is your armount?
Vexation, disappointment, and remorse.
Sad, sick'ning thought! And yet deluded man,
A scene of crude disjointed visions past
And broken slumbers, rises still resolv'd,
With new flush'd hopes to run the giddy round.

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