VI.

Be Life and Spirit, when Fortune proves unkind,
And fummon up the Vigor of thy Mind.
But when thou'rt driven by too officious Gales,
Be wife, and gather in the fwelling Sails.

In the Second Mifcellany, Page 130.

WE muft all live, and we would all live well,

But how to do it very few can tell;

He fure doth beft who a true Mean can keep,
Nor boldly fails too far into the Deep,

Nor yet too fearfully creeps near the Land,
And runs the Danger of the Rocks and Sand.
Who to that happy Medium can attain,
Who neither feeks for, nor despises Gain,
Who neither finks too low, nor aims too high,
He fhuns th' unwholfom Ills of Poverty;
And is fecure from Envy, which attends

A fumptuous Table, and a Crowd of Friends.
Their treacherous Height doth the tall Pines expofe
To the rude Blafts of every Wind that blows;
And lofty Towers unfortunately high,
Are near their Ruin as they're near the Sky;
And when they fall, what was their Pride before,
Serves only then t'encrease their Fall the more.
Who wifely governs and directs his Mind,
Never despairs, though Fortune be unkind;
He hopes, and though he finds he hop'd in vain,
He bears it patiently, and hopes again.

And if at last a kinder Fate confpires

To heap upon him more than he defires;
He then fufpects the Kindness he enjoys,

Takes it with Thanks, but with fuch Care employs,
As if that Fate, weary of giving more,
Would once refume what it beftow'd before.
He finds Man's Life, by an Eternal Skill,
Is temper'd equally with Good and Ill.
Fate fhapes our Lives, as it divides the Years,
Hopes are our Summer, and our Winter's Fears;
And 'tis by an unerring Rule decreed,

That this fhall that alternately fucceed,

Therefore when Fate's unkind, dear Friend, be wife,
And bear its Ills without the leaft Surprize.
The more you are opprefs'd, bear up the more,
Weather the Tempest till its Rage be o'er.
But if too profperous and too ftrong a Gale,
Should rather ruffle than just fill your Sail,
Leffen it, and let it take but fo much Wind,
As is proportion'd to the Course defign'd,
"For 'tis the greatest Part of Human Skill,
To ufe good Fortune, and to bear our Ill.

ODE X.

I.

IIcinius, would you learn from me

The Arts of living fafe and free;

Truft not too far the faithless Sea,

Nor treacherous Winds explore;

Nor yet folicitous to avoid

The impetuous Ocean's threat'ning Pride,
Your Bark too much as closely guide
Along the rocky Shore,

M

}

II. Him

11.

Him who the Golden Mean does praise,
A fordid Cottage does not please,
Nor asks he Marble Palaces,

Th' invidious Scenes of State.
Light'ning on Hills, and raging Winds
Fall fierceft on the lofty Pines,
And when a mighty Tow'r declines,
More dreadful is its Fate.

III.

The true Philofophers, who dare,
Thro' both Prefumption and Defpair,
In Cloudy Fortune hope; in Fair
Expect a changing Sky;

The fame Almighty Sov'reign Powers,
That Storm to Day in frightful Showers,
To Morrow are more kindly ours,

And lay their Thunder by.

IV.

Fair Weather, Time, and Patience brings.
Sometimes the great Apollo fings,
And strikes his Golden founding Strings,
Nor always plies his Bow.

Be brave, when boisterous Fate prevails;
And in her kindeft profperous Gales,
By furling your too-bloated Sails,

The prudent Pilot fhew.

UR

ODE XII.

By Mr. GLANVILL.

Nolis longa fera Bella Numantiæ, &c.

In the Fourth Mifcellany, Page 203.

I.

Rge me no more to write of Martial Things,
Of fighting Heroes, and of conquering Kings:
Our brave Fore-fathers Glory to advance,

Shew Subdu'd Ireland and fing Vanquish'd France:
Tell how Spain's Blood the British Ocean fwell'd,
With Shame invading, and with more repell❜d.
No, thefe high Themes of the Heroick Strain,
Suit ill with my low feeble Vein;

To equal Numbers I'd in vain afpire,
How fhou'd I make a Trumpet of a Lyre?
Much lefs dare 1, in an unhallow'd Strain,
Great Naffau's Wars and Victories profane.
You better may in lafting Profe rehearfe
Things which defy my humble Verfe.
Tis a fond thing to think to reconcile
Such glorious Actions with fo mean a Style.

H.

Me fair Lycinia's fofter Praife,

Her native Charms, and winning Ways,
The Mufe ordain'd to fing in gentle Lays.
Me the fweet Song with Syrens Art defies,
Me the ferenely fhining Eyes,

And, above all, the gen'rous grateful Heart,
True to the mutual Love, and faithful to its Part.

}

Ly

Lycinia, whofe becoming Dance,

With airy Motion does Love's Fire advance,
Whose wanton Wit, wild as her Eyes,
The tickled Mind does pleasantly surprize;
Whofe various Arts all our rich Powers alarm,
A Grace each Action, and each Word a Charm.
III.

;

Ah! when her willing Head the gently bends,
And fragrant Kiffes languifhirgly lends ;
When with fond artful Coynefs fhe denies,
More glad to lofe, than we to win the Prize;
Or when the Wanton, in a toying Vein,
Snatches the Kifs from the preventing Swain
Wou'd you then give one Bracelet of her Hair
For the poor Crowns that Monarchs wear?
Wou'd you exchange for all those favourite Ifles
The Sun laughs on, one of her pleafing Smiles?
Wou'd you for both the Indies Wealth decline
The hidden Treasures of her richer Mine?
Not I, for fuch vain Toys I'd ne'er remove,
My Wealth, my Pomp, my Heaven shou'd all be Love.

ODE XII.

To Mecenas.

1.

Dire Hannibal, the Roman Dread,

Numantian Wars that rag'd fo long,

And Seas with Punick Slaughter red,
Fit not the fofter Lyrick Song.