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(From Metastasio. *)
BY MR. HOOLE.
What frenzy must his soul possess,
Whose hopes on evil deeds depend ! For though the wicked meet success,
Yet peace can ne'er their steps attend.
For ev’n in life's serenest state,
Shall Vice receive her secret sting ; As Virtue, though depress’d by fate,
Herself her own reward shall bring.
BY THE REV. THOMAS WARTON.
To tinkling brooks, to twilight shades,
To desert prospects rough and rude, With youthful rapture first I ran,
Enamour'd of sweet solitude.
On beauty next I wond'ring gaz'd,
Too soon my supple heart was caught : An eye, a breast, a lip, a shape,
Was all I talk'd of, all I thought.
* In the opera of ' Hypsipile.'
Next, by the smiling Muses led,
On Pindus’ laureld top I dream,
The warbles of th' enchanting stream.
Then Harmony and Picture came,
Twin-nymphs, my sense to entertain;
With Raphael's strokes and Handel's strain.
At last, such various pleasures prov'd
All cloying, vain, unmanly found;
Yet parents of some painful wound.
Humbly I ask'd great Wisdom's aid,
To true delight to lead my feet;
• Virtue alone is bliss complete.'
BY DAVID GARRICK, ESQ. *
Come, come, my good shepherds, our flocks we must
In your holiday suits, with
appear : The happiest of folk are the guiltless and free, t And who are so guiltless, so happy as we ?
Sung by a sheplierdess, at the sheep-shearing in Florizel and Perdita ;' a farce taken from Shakspeare's • Winter's Tale.'
+ So the best copies. It is usually sung guileless, even at Drurylane theatre. The alteration was probably made by the composer.
We harbour no passions, by luxury taught,
By mode and caprice are the city-dames led,
That giant Ambition we never can dread,
When love has possess'd us, that love we reveal ;
A COUNTRY LIFE.
BY MRS. KATHERINE PHILIPS.
(The matchless Orinda.'*)
How sacred and how innocent
A country life appears ;
From flattery or fears !
[This title preceded a posthumous edition of her poems.]
This was the first and happiest life,
When man enjoy'd himself;
And happiness for pelf.
'Twas here the poets were inspir’d,
Here taught the multitude ;
And civiliz'd the rude.
That golden age did entertain
No passion but of love ;
Did ne'er their fancies move.
None then did envy neighbour's wealth,
Nor plot to wrong his bed : Happy in friendship and in health,
On roots, not beasts, they fed.
They knew no law nor physic then,
Nature was all their wit : And if there yet remain to men
Content, sure this is it.
What blessings doth this world afford
To tempt or bribe desire ?
Who would not then retire ?
Then welcome, dearest solitude,
My great felicity; Though some are pleas’d to call three rude,
T'hou art no t so, but we.
Them that do covet only rest,
A cottage will suffice :
Of earth, but to despise.
Opinion is the rate of things,
From hence our peace doth flow; I have a better fate than kings,
Because I think it so.
When all the stormy world doth roar,
How unconcern’d am I?
Who never could be high.
Secure in these unenvied walls,
I think not on the state,
From his ambitious height.
Silence and innocence are safe ;
A heart that's only true,
That do the world subdue.
While others revel it in state,
Here I'll contented sit,
Let some in courtship take delight,
And to th’ Exchange resort ;
Not making love but sport,