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SE C T. XVIII.
BE wife to day; 'tis madness to defer;
SE C T. XIX.
T thirty man suspects himself a fool;
Strikes thro' their wounded hearts the fudden dread;
no fear the sky retains,
As from the wing
TIME is eternity; pregnant with all
Heav'n's on their wing: A moment we may wish,
The period past, regive the given hour.
ON LIFE'S STAGE.
LIFE's little stage is a small eminence,
Where dwells the multitude: We gaze around;
JUDGE before friendship, then confide till death
A friend is worth all hazards we can run.
Know'st thou what a friend contains?
Haft thou a friend to fet thy mind abroach? Good fenfe will ftagnate. Thoughts fhut up want air, And spoil, like bales unopen'd to the fun. Had thought been all, sweet speech had been deny'd ; Speech, thought's canal! fpeech, thought's criterion. DR. YOUNG
SE C T. XXIII.
MAN wants but little; nor that little, long;
How foon muft he refign his very duft,
Which frugal nature lent him for an hour!
O my coevals! remnants of yourselves! Poor human ruins, tott'ring o'er the grave! Shall we, fhall aged men, like aged trees, Strike deeper their vile root, and closer cling, Still more enamour'd of this wretched foil? Shall our pale, wither'd hands, be still stretch'd out, Trembling at once with eagernefs and age? With av'rice and convulfions grasping hard? Grasping at air! for what has earth befide?
SE C T. XXIV.
ON THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY.
Y proftrate foul adores the prefent God: Praise I a distant Deity? He tunes my voice, The nerve that writes fuftains. Wrap'd in his being, I refound his praise.
The nameless He, whofe nod is Nature's birth, And Nature's fhield the fhadow of his hand; Her diffolution his fufpended fmile! The great first, laft! Pavilion'd high he fits; Looks down on all that foars, and spans immensity! Though night unnumber'd worlds unfolds to view, Boundless creation! what art thou? A beam, A mere effluvium of his majesty.
Down to earth's centre fhould I fend my thought, Thro' beds of glittering ore, and glowing gems, Their beggar'd blaze wants luftre for my lay; Goes out in darkness! If on tow'ring wing, I fend it thro' the boundlefs vault of ftars!
The stars, tho' rich, what drofs their gold to thee!
TO A LADY PLAYING UPON A LUTE.
HE trembling ftrings about her fingers crowd, And tell their joy for every kifs aloud: Small force there needs to make them tremble so, Touch'd by that hand, who would not tremble too? Here Love takes ftand, and while fhe charms the ear, Empties his quiver on the liftening deer : Mufic fo foftens and disarms the mind, That not one arrow does refistance find: Thus the fair tyrant celebrates the prize, And aids herself the triumph of her eyes. So Nero once, with harp in hand, furvey'd His flaming Rome, and as that burn'd he play’d.
Liberty! thou Goddess heavenly bright!