No nipping white is feen, But all the Fields are clad with pleasant Green, The Ox forfakes his once warm Stall To bask in th' Sun's much warmer beams; The Plowman leaves his fire and his fleep, Well pleas'd to whistle to his lab'ring Teams; Whilft the glad Shepherd pipes to's frisking Sheep. Nay tempted by the fmiling Sky Wreckt Merchants quit the shore, Refolving once again to try The Wind and Seas Almighty power; Chufing much rather to be dead than poor. Or under fhady Trees, The Shepherdeffes and their Swains Dance to their rural Harmonies; They fteal in private to the covert Groves, There finish their well heighten❜d Loves. The City Dame takes this pretence (Weary of Husband and of Innocence) To quit the fmoak and business of the Town, And to her Country-house retires, Where the may bribe, then grafp fome brawny Clown, Or her appointed Gallant come To feed her loose defires; Whilft the poor Cuckold by his sweat at home Bleft as he thinks in fuch a beauteous Bride. Let's then accept our Mother Nature's treat, Where Crown'd with gaudy flowers We'll drink and laugh away the gliding hours. Truft me, Thyrfis, the grim Conqueror Death With the fame freedom fnatches a King's breath, He huddles the poor fetter'd Slave, Tho' each day we with coft repair, He mocks our greatest skill and utmost care; Nor loves the Fair, nor fears the Strong. And he that lives the longeft, dies but young; And once depriv'd of light We're wrapt in mifts of endless Night. Once come to thofe dark Cells of which we're told So many ftrange Romantick Tales of Old, (In things unknown Invention's juftly bold) No more fhall Mirth and Wine Our loves and wits refine; No more fhall you your Phyllis have, Shall lye like us despis'd. The IV. ODE of the SECOND BOOK of HORACE English'd by Mr. Duke. Lush not, my Friend, to own the Love B which thy fair Captive's Eyes do move: Achilles once the Fierce, the Brave, You know not to what mighty Line Was never born of any Race 1, poor I, may fafely praife. Sufpect not Love the youthful Rage The VIII. ODE of the SECOND BOOK of HORACE. English'd by Mr. Duke. F ever any injur'd Power By which the false Barine fwore, Had the leaft mark of Vengeance shed ; Had fuffer'd by thy Perjury, I should believe thy Vows; but thou Of all our Youth the Publick care, HORACE and LYDIA. W The IX. ODE. English'd by Mr. Duke. HORACE. Hilft I was welcome to your heart, I flourish'd richer and more bleft Whilft all thy Soul with me was fill'd, Lydia, the celebrated Name, The only Theme of Verse and Fame, Me Chloe now, whom every Mufe, Me lovely Calais does fire With mutual flames of fierce defire; What if our former Loves return, For the forfaken Lydia? LYDIA. Tho' he is fhining as a Star, Conftant and kind as he is Fair; Thou light as Cork, rough as the Sea, Yet I would live, would dye with thee, |