Why was this life for misery made? Is there no room amongst the dead? Move faster on, great Nature's wheel; Be dusky, all my rising suns, THE REVERSE: OR, THE COMFORTS OF A FRIEND. THUS Nature tun'd her mournful tongue, 'Were kindred spirits born for cares Is there a sympathy in tears, 'Forbid it, Heaven, and raise my love, So bliss and friendship join'd above 'Sorrows are lost in vast delight Pleasures in long succession reign, And all my powers employ: Friendship but shifts the pleasing scene, And fresh repeats the joy. 'Life has a soft and silver thread, Nor is it drawn too long; Yet when my vaster hopes persuade, 'Fast as ye please roll down the hill, Or I can wait my Father's will, 'Rise glorious, every future sun, Gild all my following days; But make the last dear moment known By well-distinguish'd rays.' TO THE • RIGHT HON. JOHN LORD CUTTS, AT THE SIEGE OF NAMUR. THE HARDY SOLDIER. 'O WHY is man so thoughtless grown? ' Are lives but worth a soldier's pay? Why will ye join such wide extremes, And stake immortal souls, in play At desperate chance, and bloody games? "Valour's a nobler turn of thought, Whose pardon'd guilt forbids her fears: Calmly she meets the deadly shot, Secure of life above the stars. 'But Frenzy dares eternal fate, Thus hovering o'er Namuria's plains, Anon the thundering trumpet calls; Vows are but wind, the hero cries: Then swears, by Heaven! and scales the walls, I BURNING SEVERAL POEMS OF OVID, MARTIAL, OLDHAM, DRYDEN, &c. JUDGE the Muse of lewd desire; Her sons to darkness, and her works to fire. In vain the flatteries of their wit Now with a melting strain, now with an heavenly Would tempt my virtue to approve [flight, Those gaudy panders of a lawless love. Die, Flora, die in endless shame, Ovid, and all ye wilder pens Of modern lust, who gild our scenes, Poison the British stage, and paint damnation gay, Attend your mistress to the dead; [shade. When Flora dies, her imps should wait upon her Strephon', of noble blood and mind, As death approach'd, his soul refin'd, John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester. Burn, burn, (he cried, with sacred rage) Hell be the fate :-but O indulgent Heaven! In endless currents rolling to the main, Can e'er dilute the poison, or wash out the stain.' So Moses, by Divine command, Forbid the leprous house to stand When deep the fatal spot was grown, 'Break down the timber, and dig up the stone. TO MRS. B. BENDISH. AGAINST TEARS. 1699. MADAM, persuade me tears are good Or if these orbs are hard and dry, Were both the golden Indies mine, E |