An Imitation of the Eleventh Ode of the First

Book of HORACE.

By the Same.

FORBEAR, my dear Stephen, with a fruitless defire

Into truths which are better conceal'd to enquire;

Perhaps many years are allow'd us by Fate,
Or next winter perhaps is the laft of their date:
Let the credulous fools whom aftrologers cheat,
Exult or defpond, as they vary deceit;
Who anticipate care, their own pleasure destroy,
And invite difappointment who build upon joy;
All ills unforeseen we the easiest endure,

What avails to foresee, unless forefight could cure ?
And from ills by their art how can wretches be freed,
When that art must be false, or those ills be decreed?
From reflection and hope little comfort we find,
To poffeflion alone let thy thoughts be confin'd;
To-day's all the treasure poor mortals can boast,
For to-morrow's not gained, and yesterday's loft;
Even now whilft I write, time steals on our youth,
And a moment's cut off from my friendship and truth:
Then feize the swift bleffing, enjoy the dear now,
And take, not expect, what hereafter 'll bestow.

W

A LOVE LETTER.

By the Same.

HAT fhall I fay to fix thy wav'ring mind,

To chafe thy doubts, and force thee to be kind ?

What weight of argument can turn the scale,

If interceffion from a lover fail ?

By what fhall I conjure thee to obey

This tender fummons, nor prolong thy stay?
If unabated in this conftant breast

That paffion burns which once thy vows profefs'd;
If abfence has not chill'd the languid flame,
Its ardour and its purity the fame ;

Indulge those transports, and no more controul
The dictates of thy fond confenting foul;
By no vain fcruple be thy purpose fway'd,
And only Love implicitly obey'd:

Let inclination this debate decide,

Nor be thy prudence, but thy heart thy guide:
But real prudence never can oppose
What Love fuggefts, and Gratitude avows:
The warm dear raptures which thy bofom move,
'Tis virtue to indulge, 'tis wisdom to improve :
For think how few the joys allow'd by Fate,
How mix'd the cup, how fhort their longest date!

How

How onward ftill the ftream of pleasure flows!
That no reflux the rapid current knows!

Not ev❜n thy charms can bribe the ruthless hand
Of rigid Time, to stay his ebbing fand;
Fair as thou art, that beauty muft decay;
The night of age fucceeds the brightest day:
That check where Nature's fweetest garden blows,
Her whiteft lily, and her warmest rose ;
Thofe eyes, thofe meaning minifters of Love,
Who, what thy lips can only utter, prove;
These must resign their luftre, those their bloom,
And find with meaner charms one common doom :
Pafs but a few short years, this change must be ;
Nor one lefs dreadful fhalt thou mourn in me:
For tho' no chance can alienate

my flame,

While thine to feed the lamp, shall burn the sameé,
Yet shall the stream of years abate that firé,
And cold efteem fucceed to warm defire:
Then on thy breaft unraptur'd fhall I dwell,
Nor feel a joy beyond what I can tell.
Or fay, should sickness antedate that woe,
And intercept what Time would elfe allow;
If pain fhould pall my tafte to all thy charms,
Or Death himself should tear me from thy arms;
How would'st thou then regret with fruitless truth,
The precious fquander'd hours of health and youth?
Come then, my love, nor truft the future day,
Live whilst we can, be happy whilst we may :

For

For what is life unless its joys we prove?
And what is happiness but mutual love?
Our time is wealth no frugal hand can store,
All our poffeffion is the present hour,
And he who spares to use it, ever poor.
The golden nor is all that we can boast;

And that (like fnow) at once is grafp'd and loft.
Hafte, wing thy paffage then, no more delay,
But to thefe eyes their fole delight convey.
Not thus I languifh'd for thy virgin charms,
When first surrender'd to these eager arms,
When firft admitted to that heav'n, thy breaft,
To mine I ftrain'd that charming foe to reft;
How leaps my conscious heart, whilft I retrace
The dear idea of that strict embrace ?
When on thy bofom quite entranc'd I lay,
And love unfated the fhort night away;
Whilst half reluctant you, and half refign'd,
Amidst fears, wishes, pain and pleasure join'd,
Now holding off, now growing to my breast,
By turns reprov'd me, and by turns carefs'd.
Oh! how remembrance throbs in every vein!
I pant, I ficken for that scene again;
My fenfes ach, I can no word command,
And the pen totters in my trembling hand.
Farewel, thou only joy on earth I know,
And all that man can taste of heav'n below,

}

* VERSES to Dr. GEORGE ROGERS, on his taking the Degree of Doctor in Phyfic at Padua, in the Year 1664.

W

By Mr. WALLER.

HEN as of old the earth's bold children strove,

With hills on hills, to fcale the throne of
Pallas and Mars ftood by their fovereign's fide,
And their bright arms in his defence employ'd:
While the wife Phoebus, Hermes, and the reft,
Who joy in peace and love the Mufes beft,
Defcending from their fò diftemper'd seat,
Our groves and meadows chose for their retreat.
There firft Apollo tried the various ufe

Of herbs, and learn'd the virtue of their juice,
And fram'd that art, to which who can pretend
A jufter title than our noble friend,

Whom the like tempeft drives from his abode,
And like employment entertains abroad?
This crowns him here; and, in the bays fo earn'd,
His country's honour is no less concern'd;
Since it appears, not all the English rave,
To ruin bent: some study how to fave.
And as Hippocrates did once extend
His facred art, whole cities to amend ;

Jove;

* This little poem was, among feveral others on the fame occafion, printed by Dr. Rogers, with his inaugural exercife at Padua; and afterwards in the fame manner re-published by him at London, together with his Harveian oration before the college of phyficians, in the year 1682; while Mr. Waller coas yet living.

So