ON FLATTERERS.

N°

0 mischief worthier of our fear

In Nature can be found,
Than friendship, in ostent sincere,

But hollow and unsound.
For lull'd into a dangerous dream

We close enfold a foe,
Who strikes, when most secure we seem,

Th' inevitable blow.

ON LATE ACQUIRED WEALTH.
OOR in my youth, and in life's later scenes

Rich to no end, I curse my natal hour :
Who nought enjoy'd while young, denied the means ;

And nought, when old, enjoy'd, denied the pow'r.

ON A GOOD MAN.

TRA

a

RAVÄLLER, regret not me; for thou shalt find

Just cause of sorrow none in my decease, Who, dying, children's children left behind,

And with one wife liv'd many a year in perce: Three virtuous youths espous'd my daughters three,

And oft their infants in my bosom lay, Nor saw I one, of all deriv'd from me,

Touch'd with disease, or torn by death away. Their duteous hands my fun'ral rites bestow'd,

And me, by blameless manners fitted well To seek it, sent to the serene abode,

Where shades of pious men for ever dwell.

ON A TRUE FRIEND.
AST thou a friend ? Thou hast indeed

A rich and large supply,
Treasure to serve your every need,

Well manag'd, till you die.

H

ON PEDIGREE.

FROM EPICHARMUS.

MY

mother! if thou love me, name no more

My noble birth! Sounding at every breath My noble birth, thou kill'st me.

Thither fly,
As to their only refuge, all from whom
Nature with

holds all good besides ; they boast
Their noble birth, conduct us to the tombs
Of their forefathers, and from age to age
Ascending, trumpet their illustrious race :
But whom hast thou beheld, or canst thou name,
Derived from no forefather ? Such a man
Lives not; for how could such be born at all ?
And if it chance, that native of a land
Far distant, or in infancy deprived
Of all his kindred, one, who cannot trace
His origin, exist, why deem him sprung
From baser ancestry than theirs, who can ?
My mother ! he, whom Nature at his birth
Endow'd with virtuous qualities, although
An Æthiop and a slave, is nobly born.

ON A MISER.

THEY

HEY call thee rich–I deem thee poor,

Since, if thou dar'st not use thy store,
But sav'st it only for thine heirs,
The treasure is not thine, but theirs.

ON FEMALE INCONSTANCY.

R

ICH, thou hadst many lovers-poor, hast none,

And she, who call’d thee once her pretty one,

And her Adonis, now inquires thy name.

Where wast thou born, Sosicrates, and where,

In what strange country can thy parents live, Who seem'st, by thy complaints, not yet aware

That want's a crime no woman can forgive ?

ON A CHARACTER.

OU give your cheeks a rosy stain,

With washes dye your hair,
But paint and washes both are vain

To give a youthful air.
Those wrinkles mock your daily toil,

No labour will efface 'em,
You wear a mask of smoothest oil,

Yet still with ease we trace 'em.

An art so fruitless then forsake,

Which though you much excel in,
You never can contrive to make

Old Hecuba Young Helen.

ON ENVY.

,

From my wishes I discard ;
Envy, let nie rather be,
Rather, far, a theme for thee !
Pity to distress is shown ;
Envy to the great alone-
So the Theban-But to shine
Less conspicuous be mine !
I prefer the golden mean
Pomp and penury between,
For alarm and peril wait
Ever on the loftiest state,
And the lowest, to the end,
Obloquy and scorn attend.

BY PHILEMON.

O meant

FT we enhance our ills by discontent,

A parent, brother, friend deceased, to cry-
“ He's dead indeed, but he was born to die"-
Such temperate grief is suited to the size
And burthen of the loss ; is just and wise.
But to exclaim—“Ah ! wherefore was I born,
Thus to be left, for ever thus forlorn ?”

Who thus laments his loss invites distress, And magnifies a woe that might be less, Through dull despondence to his lot resign'd, And leaving reason's remedy behind.

EPIGRAMS.
Translated from the Latin of Owen.

ON ONE IGNORANT AND ARROGANT. Thou mayst of double ign'rance boast, Who know'st not that thou nothing know'st.

PRUDENT SIMPLICITY.
That thou mayst injure no man, dove-like be,
And serpent-like, that none may injure thee !

TO A FRIEND IN DISTRESS. I wish thy lot, now bad, still worse, my friend; For when at worst, they say, things always inend.

WHEN little more than boy in age,
I deem'd myself almost a sage ;
But now seem worthier to be styled,
For ignorance—almost a child.

SUNSET AND SUNRISE.

CONTEMPLATE, when the sun declines,

Thy death, with deep reflection !
And when again he rising shines,

Thy day of resurrection !