Tum demùm exaftis non infeliciter annis,

Sortiri tacitum lapidem, aut fub cefpite condi!

On a GOLDFINCH ftarved to Death in his Cage.

I.

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 ftrains for ever new.

2.

But gawdy plumage, fprightly ftrain,

And form genteel were all in vain

And of a tranfient date,

For caught and caged and ftarved to death,

In dying fighs my little breath

Soon pafs'd the wiry grate.

Thanks

3.

Thanks, gentle fwain, for all my w.,

And thanks for this effectual clofe

And cure o ev'ry ill!

More cruelty could none exprefs,
And I, if you had fhewn me less

Had been your pris'ner till.

The PINE APPLE and the b

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 pafs'd,
On eager wing the spoiler came,

And fearch'd for crannies in the frame,
Urg'd his attempt on ev'ry fide,

To ev'ry pane his trunk applied,

But

But ftill in vain, the frame was tight

And only pervious to the light.
Thus having wafted half the day,

He trimmed his flight another way.
Methinks, I faid, in thee I find

The fin and madness of mankind;
To joys forbidden man aspires,
Confumes his foul with vain defires;
Folly the spring of his pursuit,

And disappointment all the fruit.

While Cynthio ogles as the paffes

The nymph between two chariot glaffes,

She is the pine apple, and he

The filly unfuccefsful bee.

The maid who views with penfive air

The fhow-glafs fraught with glitt'ring ware,

Sees watches, bracelets, rings, and lockets,
But fighs at thought of empty pockets,
Like thine her appetite is keen,

But ah the cruel glafs between !

Our

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

HORACE. 'Book the 2d. ODE the 10th

I.

RECEIVE, dear friend, the truths I teach,

So fhalt thou live beyond the reach

Of adverfe fortunes pow'r ;

Not always tempt the distant deep,

Nor always timorously creep..

Along the treach'rous fhore,

He

2.

He that holds faft 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.

3.

The tallest pines feel moft the pow'r

Of wintry blafts, the loftieft tow'r
Comes heaviest to the ground,

The bolts that fpare the mountains fide,
His cloud-capt eminence divide

And spread the ruin round.

4.

The well inform'd philofopher .Rejoices with an wholesome fear,

And hopes in spite of pain;

If winter bellow from the north,

Soon the sweet spring comes dancing forth,

And nature laughs again.