Slide off the flippery sphere; Moons with their months make hafty rounds, The fun has pafs'd his vernal bounds, Let folly drefs in green and red, Hartopp, mark the withering rofe, Bright and lafting blifs below Is all romance and dream; Only the joys celestial flow The pleasures that the fmiling day Airy chance, and iron fate, And And all the race of ills create; Now fiery joy, now fullen grief, Commands the reins of human life, The wheels impetuous roll; The harneft hours and minutes ftrive, And days with stretching pinions drive-down fiercely on the goal. Not half fo faft the galley flies O'er the Venetian fea, When fails, and oars, and labouring skies, Contend to make her way. Swift wings for all the flying hours The God of time prepares, The reft lie ftill yet in their neft And grow for future years. To THOMAS GUNSTON, Efq; HAPPY 1700. SOLITUDE. Cafimire, Book IV. Ode 12. imitated. Quid me latentem, &c." HE noify world complains of me THE That I fhould fhun their fight, and flee Vifits, and crowds, and company. Gunfton, the lark dwells in her neft Till the afcend the fkies; And in my closet I could reft Till to the heavens I rife. Yet they will urge, "This private life "And twenty doors are still at ftrife Friend, fhould the towers of Windfor or Whitehall But short should be my stay, Since a diviner service waits T'employ my hours at home, and better fill the day. When I within myself retreat,. All the wide theatre of Me, And view the various fcenes of my retiring foul;. Whether this Opera of life Be acted well to gain the Plaudit of my God. There's a day haftening, ('tis an awful day!) The feveral parts we act on this wide stage of clay: These he approves, and those he blames, And crowns perhaps a porter, and a prince he damns. O if the judge from his tremendous feat Shall not condemn what I have done, Nor need the gazing rabble, nor the fhouting ftreet. I hate the Glory, friend, that fprings Till Envy shoots, and Fame receives the wound: Down glory falls, and strikes the ground, Rather let me be quite conceal'd from Fame; In. fweet obfcurity, Nor the loud world pronounce my little name! Or if fociety be due To keep our taste of pleasure new, Here we could fit and pafs the hour, Nor is herself feeure, but in a clofe retreat. While she withdraws from public praise, But if fhe once advance to light, Her charms are loft in Envy's fight, And Virtue stands the mark of universal spight. To Jo HN HARTOPP, Efq; afterwards Sir JOHN HAR TOP P, Bart. THE DISDAIN. HARTOPP, I love the soul that dares Tread the temptations of his years Beneath his youthful feet : Fleetwood and all thy heavenly line Look through the stars, and smile divine Young Hartopp knows this noble theme, The noife, th' amufements, and the ftrife, Flesh is the vileft and the leaft Ingredient of our frame: We're born to live above the beast, Or quit the manly name. 1700. Pleafures |