Then, foon as the fwell of the buds
Befpeaks the renewal of spring,
Fly hence, if thou wilt, to the woods,
Or where it shall please thee to fing:
And shouldst thou, compell'd by a frost,
Come again to my window or door,
Doubt not an affectionate host,

Only pay as thou paid'st me before.

Thus mufic must needs be confefs'd
To flow from a fountain above;
Elfe how should it work in the breast
Unchangeable friendship and love?
And who on the globe can be found,
Save your generation and ours,
That can be delighted by found,
Or boasts any musical powers?

STRADA'S NIGHTINGALE.

HE fhepherd touch'd his reed; fweet
Philomel

Effay'd, and oft effay'd to catch the
ftrain,

And treasuring, as on her ear they fell,
The numbers, echo'd note for note again.

The peevish youth, who ne'er had found before
A rival of his skill, indignant heard,

And foon (for various was his tuneful store)
In loftier tones defied the fimple bird.

She dared the task, and, rifing as he rofe,
With all the force that paffion gives inspired,
Return'd the founds awhile, but in the close
Exhausted fell, and at his feet expired.

Thus ftrength, not skill prevail'd. O fatal ftrife,
By thee, poor fongstress, playfully begun;
And, O fad victory, which coft thy life,
And he may wish that he had never won!

ODE ON THE DEATH OF A LADY,
Who lived One Hundred Years, and died
On her Birthday, 1728.

NCIENT dame, how wide and vast

To a race like ours appears,
Rounded to an orb at last,
All thy multitude of years!

We, the herd of human kind,

Frailer and of feebler powers;
We, to narrow bounds confined,
Soon exhaust the fum of ours.

Death's delicious banquet-we
Perish even from the womb,
Swifter than a fhadow flee,

Nourish'd but to feed the tomb.

Seeds of merciless disease

Lurk in all that we enjoy ; Some that waste us by degrees, Some that fuddenly destroy.

And, if life o'erleap the bourn
Common to the fons of men,
What remains, but that we mourn,
Dream, and dote, and drivel then?

Faft as moons can wax and wane
Sorrow comes; and while we groan,
Pant with anguish, and complain,
Half our years are fled and gone.

If a few (to few 'tis given),

Lingering on this earthly stage,
Creep and halt with steps uneven
To the period of an age,

Wherefore live they, but to fee
Cunning, arrogance, and force,
Sights lamented much by thee,
Holding their accuftom'd course?

Oft was feen, in ages past,

All that we with wonder view; Often fhall be to the last;

Earth produces nothing new.

Thee we gratulate, content

Should propitious Heaven defign

Life for us as calmly spent,

Though but half the length of thine.

THE CAUSE WON.

WO neighbours furiously dispute; A field-the subject of the suit. Trivial the spot, yet fuch the rage With which the combatants engage, "Twere hard to tell who covets moft

The prize

-at whatsoever coft.

The pleadings fwell. Words ftill fuffice:
No fingle word but has its price:

No term but yields fome fair pretence
For novel and increased expense.

Defendant thus becomes a name,
Which he that bore it may disclaim,
Since both, in one description blended,
Are plaintiffs-when the fuit is ended.

THE SILKWORM.

HE beams of April, ere it goes, A worm, fcarce vifible, disclose; All winter long content to dwell The tenant of his native shell. The fame prolific season gives The fuftenance by which he lives, The mulberry leaf, a fimple ftore, That ferves him-till he needs no more!

For, his dimenfions once complete,
Thenceforth none ever fees him eat;
Though till his growing time be past
Scarce ever is he feen to faft.

That hour arrived, his work begins;

He spins and weaves, and weaves and spin s;
Till circle upon circle wound

Careless around him and around,

Conceals him with a veil, though flight,
Impervious to the keenest fight.
Thus felf-inclofed as in a cafk,
At length he finishes his task;

And, though a worm when he was loft,
Or caterpillar at the most,

When next we see him, wings he wears,
And in papilio-pomp appears;

Becomes oviparous; fupplies

With future worms and future flies

The next enfuing year-and dies!

Well were it for the world, if all
Who creep about this earthly ball,
Though shorter lived than most he be,
Were useful in their kind as he.

THE INNOCENT THIEF.

OT 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 bee, never wearied, a treasure.