XIII. ODE ON THE DEATH OF A LADY, WHO LIVED ONE HUNDRED YEARS, AND DIED ON HER BIRTHDAY, 1728. ANCIENT dame, how wide and vast, Rounded to an orb at last, All thy multitude of years! We, the herd of human kind, Frailer and of feebler powers; Death's delicious banquet-we Nourish'd but to feed the tomb. Seeds of merciless disease Lurk in all that we enjoy; And if life o'erleap the bourn What remains, but that we mourn, 78 ODE ON THE DEATH OF A LADY. Fast as moons can wax and wane, If a few (to few 'tis given), Lingering on this earthly stage, Wherefore live they, but to see Oft was seen, in ages past, All that we with wonder view; Earth produces nothing new. Thee we gratulate; content, Should propitious Heaven design Life for us, as calmly spent, Though but half the length of thine. XIV. THE CAUSE WON. Two neighbours furiously dispute; The pleadings swell. Words still suffice; Defendant thus becomes a name, Which he that bore it may disclaim; Since both, in one description blended, Are plaintiffs-when the suit is ended, XV. THE SILKWORM. THE beams of April, ere it goes, That serves him-till he needs no more! For, his dimensions once complete, That hour arrived, his work begins; He spins and weaves, and weaves and spins; Careless around him and around, And, though a worm, when he was lost, When next we see him, wings he wears, Becomes oviparous; supplies XVI. THE INNOCENT THIEF. NOT a flower can be found in the fields, Or the spot that we till for our pleasure, From the largest to least, but it yields The bec, never wearied, a treasure. Scarce any she quits unexplored, Yet, steal what she may for her hoard, Her lucrative task she pursues, And pilfers with so much address, That none of their odour they lose, Nor charm by their beauty the less. Not thus inoffensively preys The cankerworm, indwelling foe! His voracity not thus allays The sparrow, the finch, or the crow. The worm, more expensively fed, The pride of the garden devours; And birds peck the seed from the bed, Still less to be spared than the flowers. |