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His quarter-staff, which he could ne'er forsake,
Hung half before and half behind his back.
He trudged along, unknowing what he sought,
And whistled as he went for want of thought.

By chance conducted, or by thirst constrain'd,
The deep recesses of the grove he gain'd;
Where, in a plain defended by the wood,
Crept through the matted grass a crystal flood;
By which an alabaster fountain stood ;
And on the margin of the fount was laid
(Attended by her slaves) a sleeping maid.
Like Dian and her nymphs, when tired with sport
To rest by cool Eurotas they resort :
The dame herself the goddess well express'd,
Not more distinguish'd by her purple vest,
Than by the charming features of her face,
And ev’n in slumber a superior grace :
Her comely limbs composed with decent care,
Her body shaded with a slight cymar;
Her bosom to the view was only bare,
Where two beginning paps were scarcely spy'd,
For yet their places were but signify'd.
The fanning wind upon her bosom blows,
To meet the fanning wind the bosom rose ;
The fanning wind, and purling streams, continue

her repose. The fool of nature stood with stupid eyes, And gaping mouth, that testify'd surprise, Fix'd on her face, nor could remove his sight, New as he was to love, and novice to delight : Long mute he stood, and, leaning on his staff, His wonder witness'd with an idiot laugh ; Then would have spoke, but by his glimmering sense First found his want of words, and fear'd offence :

Doubted for what he was he should be known, By his clown accent, and his country tone. Through the rude chaos thus the running light Shot the first ray that pierced the native night ; Then day and darkness in the mass were mix'd, Till gather'd in a globe the beams were fix'd. Last shone the sun, who, radiant in his sphere, Illumined heaven and earth, and rolld around the

year. So reason in his brutal soul began, Love made him first suspect he was a man ; Love made him doubt his broad barbarian sound; By love his want of words and wit he found ; That sense of want prepared the future way To knowledge, and disclosed the promise of a day.


THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE. BEHOLD yon mountain's hoary height

Made higher with new mounts of snow; Again behold the Winter's weight

Oppress the labouring woods below : And streams, with icy fetters bound, Benumb'd and crampt to solid ground.

With well-heap'd logs dissolve the cold,

And feed the genial hearth with fires ;
Produce the wine, that makes us bold,

And sprightly wit and love inspires :
For what hereafter shall betide,
God, if 'tis worth his care, provide.

Let him alone, with what he made,

To toss and turn the world below; At his command the storms invade ;

The winds by his commission blow; Till with a nod he bids them cease, And then the calm returns, and all is peace.

To-morrow and her works defy,

Lay hold upon the present hour, And snatch the pleasures passing by,

To put them out of Fortune's power : Nor love, nor love's delights, disdain ; Whate'er thou gett'st to-day is gain.

Secure those golden early joys,

That youth unsour'd with sorrow bears,
Ere withering Time the taste destroys,

With sickness and unwieldy years.
For active sports, for pleasing rest,
This is the time to be possest;
The best is but in season best.

The appointed hour of promised bliss,

The pleasing whisper in the dark, The half unwilling willing kiss,

The laugh that guides thee to the mark, When the kind nymph would coyness feign, And hides but to be found again ; These, these are joys the gods for youth ordain.


BORN ABOUT 1639-DIED 1701.

This gentleman, one of the most witty and profligate of the

courtiers of Charles the Second, is best known as a dramatic writer. After spending a youth of folly and gaiety, he went into parliament, and became a man of business. His daughter was the mistress of the Duke of York, afterwards James II. At the accession of her royal lover she was created Countess of Dorchester. It does not appear that her father enjoyed her elevation. When Sedley was asked why he promoted the Revolution, which opened the way to the throne to the Princess Mary, the wife of William Prince of Orange, he replied, “ Gratitude to the King, who had made his daughter a Countess, made him do what he could to make her a Queen.”

Sedley is the writer of the well-known song, “Ah, Chloris! could I now but sit.”


PHILLIS, this early zeal assuage !

You overact your part :
The martyrs, at your tender age,

Gave heaven but half their heart.

Old men,

till past the pleasure, ne'er
Declaim against the sin :
'Tis early to begin to fear

The devil at fifteen.

By secret and mysterious springs,

Alas ! our passions move;
We women are fantastic things,

That like before we love.

You may be handsome and have wit,

Be secret and well-bred,
The person love must to us fit,

He only can succeed,

LOVE, when 'tis true, needs not the aid

Of sighs, nor oaths, to make it known :
And, to convince the cruellest maid,

Lovers should use their love alone.

Into their very looks 'twill steal,

And he that most would hide his flame, Does in that case his pain reveal :

Silence itself can love proclaim.

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The reputation of Swift as a poet is eclipsed by his fame as

a prose writer, and he is thus in some measure the martyr of his own popularitySwift was the son of an English

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