I look'd, and hovering o'er the flowery turf Were seen innumerable shapes, whose wings Wav'd on the wind, or o'er the glittering field Who trod in silence. Care with lowering brow Slow stalk'd; and Slander, speckled as the snake That stings th' unwary traveller, along

The tainted earth trail'd loose, or borne on wings
Blue as the brimstone's gleam, in secret shot
Her poison'd arrows. Pining Envy gnaw'd
A blasted laurel, from the locks of Fame
Snatch'd as the goddess to her lips applied
Her mighty trump, and swell'd a solemn note
To Homer's venerable name-Not far

Stood Discord foaming. Riot double-tongu'd,
And gleaming Frenzy, and thy yellow wing,
Revenge, fell fiend! shook plagues, and through
the breast

Infus'd their venom to the inmost soul.

O'er all, Disease her beauty-withering wand
Wav'd high; and, heaving on the heavy air
Her raven pinions, bloated as she sail'd
The face of Nature. Shapeless was her form,
And void; the owl's ill-omen'd eyes high-rais'd
Speckled her front, her nostrils breath'd a cloud,
Pale Famine's sallow hand had scoop'd her cheek;
And a green viper form'd her forky tongue.

........................

Slow she mov'd

Along the troubled air; and from a bag
(Wrought deep by Envy in her midnight den)
Scatter'd the seeds of death. The sparkling bowl
Receiv'd them now; and now th' enfeebled corse,
Lank, open, spent, at each unfolding pore
Suck'd in the poison, as it rose decay'd,

Livid, and weak, from Pleasure's loose embrace.

Soon o'er each withering cheek the baleful pow'r Had spread unseen her life-consuming stain : Nor knew th' exulting youth, who quaff'd elate The draught delicious, that untimely frost Lurk'd by the springs of life; and secret chill'd The florid blood, and mark'd him for the tomb.

At last with weak step came the trembling sage, Haggard, and shrinking from the breeze; his voice Was deep, and hollow; and the loose nerves shook His silver-sprinkled head. He thus began:

"O yet while Heav'n suspends your doom, be
My sons! O cease to listen to the lure [wise,
Of Pleasure! Death attends her forward step,
And Peril lays the sure, though secret snare.
Hear, then, the words of age. Yet Fate bestows
One hour; yet Virtue, with indulgent voice,
By me invites to shun the devious maze

Of Errour-Yet, to crown with length of days,
With joy, with happiness, your bold career
She hopes! O snatch the proffer'd boon! be rous'd,
Ere her strong arm tremendous at your heads
Shall launch th' avenging thunder; ere dismay'd,
Perplex'd, bewilder'd, wild, you seek the haunt
Of Peace, when darkness veils her lowly cot:
And mourn her gentle smile for ever gone.'
Ogilvie.

PANACEA, OR THE GRAND RESTORATIVE.

WELCOME to Baia's streams ye sons of spleen, Who rove from spaw to spaw-to shift the scene. While round the streaming fount you idly throng, Come, learn a wholesome secret from my song.

Ye fair, whose roses feel th' approaching frost, And drops supply the place of spirits lost:Ye squires, who, rack'd with gouts, at Heav'n reCondemn'd to water for excess in wine: Ye portly cits, so corpulent and full,

[pine,

Who eat and drink till appetite grows dull:
For whets and bitters then unstring the purse,
Whilst nature, more oppress'd, grows worse and

worse:

Dupes to the craft of pill-prescribing leaches :
You nod or laugh at what the parson preaches:
Hear then a rhyming-quack, who spurns your
wealth,

And gratis gives a sure receipt for health.
No more thus vainly rove o'er sea and land,
When, lo! a sovereign remedy's at hand;
'Tis temperance-Stale cant!-'Tis fasting then;
Heav'n's antidote against the sins of men.
Foul luxury's the cause of all your pain:
To scour th' obstructed glands, abstain! abstain!
Fast and take rest, ye candidates for sleep,
Who from high food tormenting vigils keep:
Fast and be fat-thou starvling in a gown;
Ye bloated, fast-twill surely bring you down.
Ye nymphs, that pine o'er chocolate and rolls,
Hence take fresh bloom, fresh vigour to your souls.
Fast and fear not-you'll need no drop nor pill:
Hunger may starve, excess is sure to kill.

Graves.

1

A CAUTION FOR COURTLY DAMSELS.

BEWARE, fair maid, of mighty courtiers' oaths,
Take heed what gifts or favours you receive;
Let not the fading gloss of silken clothes
Dazzle your virtues, or your fame bereave:
For once but leave the hold you have of grace,
Who will regard your fortune or your face?

Each greedy hand will strive to catch the flower,
When none regard the stalk it grows upon;
Baseness desires the fruit still to devour,
And leave the tree to stand or fall alone:

But this advice, fair creature, take of me,
Let none take fruit unless he'll have the tree.

Believe not oaths, nor much-protesting men;
Credit no vows, nor a prevailing song;

Let courtiers swear, forswear, and swear again,
The heart doth live ten legions from the tongue :
For when with oaths and vows they make you
tremble,

Believe them least, for then they most dissemble.

Beware lest Croesus do corrupt thy mind,
Or fond Ambition sell thy modesty ;
Say, though a king thou even courteous find,
He cannot pardon thy impurity.

Begin with kings, to subjects you will fall,
From lord to lacquey, and at last to all.

Sylvester.

ADVICE TO A LADY.

THE Counsels of a friend, Belinda, hear,
Too roughly kind to please a lady's ear,
Unlike the flatteries of a lover's pen,

Such truths as women seldom learn from men.
Nor think I praise you ill, when thus I show
What female vanity might fear to know:
Some merit's mine, to dare to be sincere ;
But greater yours, sincerity to bear.

Hard is the fortune that your sex attends;
Women, like princes, find few real friends:
All who approach them their own ends pursue;
Lovers and ministers are seldom true.

Hence oft from Reason heedless Beauty strays, And the most trusted guide the most betrays : Hence, by fond dreams of fancied power amus'd, When most you tyrannize, you're most abus'd. What is your sex's earliest, latest care, Your heart's supreme ambition?-To be fair. For this, the toilet every thought employs, Hence all the toils of dress, and all the joys: For this, hands, lips, and eyes, are put to school, And each instructed feature has its rule: And yet how few have learnt, when this is given, Not to disgrace the partial boon of Heaven! How few with all their pride of form can move! How few are lovely, that are made for love! Do you, my fair, endeavour to possess An elegance of mind, as well as dress; Be that your ornament, and know to please By graceful Nature's unaffected ease.

Nor make to dangerous wit a vain pretence, But wisely rest content with modest sense;