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Thanks, gentle swain, for all my woes,
And thanks for this effectual close

And cure of ev'ry ill!
More cruelty could none express,
And I, if you had shewn me less

Had been your pris'ner still.

The PINEAPPLE and the BEE.

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 passid,
On eager wing the spoiler came,
And search'd for crannies in the frame,
Urg'd his attempt on ev'ry side,
To ev'ry pane his trunk applied,


But still in vain, the frame was tight
And only pervious to the light.
Thus having wasted half the day,
He trimm'd his Aight another way.

Methinks, I said, in thee I find
The sin and madness of mankind;
To joys forbidden man aspires,
Consumes his foul with vain desires
Folly the spring of his pursuit,
And disappointment all the fruit.
While Cynthio ogles as she passes
The nymph between two chariot glasses,
She is the pine apple, and he
The silly unsuccessful bee.
The maid who views with pensive air
The show-glass fraught with glitt'ring ware,
Sees watches, bracelets, rings, and lockets,
But sighs at thought of empty pockets,
Like thine, her appetite is keen,
But ah the cruel glass between !



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

HORACE. Book the 2d, ODE the ioth.


RECEIVE, dear friend, the truths I teach,
So shalt thou live beyond the reach

Of adverse Fortune's pow'r;
Not always tempt the distant deep,
Nor always timorously creep,

Along the treach'rous shore.



He that holds fast 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.


The tallest pines feel most the pow'r
Of wintry blasts, the loftieft tow'r

Comes heaviest to the ground;
The bolts that spare the mountain's side,
His cloud-capt eminence divide,

And spread the ruin round.


The well inform’d philosopher
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.


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What if thine heav'n be overcast,
The dark appearance will not last,

Expect a brighter sky;
The God that strings the silver bow,
Awakes sometimes the muses too,

And lays his arrows by.


If hindrances obstruct thy way,
Thy magnanimity display,

And let thy strength be seen ;
But oh! if Fortune fill thy fail
With more than a propitious gale,

Take half thy canvass in.

A REFLECTION on the foregoing O DE.

AND is this all ? Can reason do no more

Than bid me shun the deep and dread the shore ?


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