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Barbaro tandèm satiata, ludo
Ægidem ponas, gladiumque ; caltam
Virginem dirus gladius, feroxque
Flagitas noftræ quid agunt camænæ ?
Uror infelix! mihi me Belinda
Surripit! Collum 0! niveum, O! Puellæ
Suave labellum !
Ah! ut obliquo afpiciens ocello
Torruit pectus ?---neque tu furoris
Inícius blandi! tibi fævit imis
Tu tamen felix ! cchibere tristes
Tu potes curas ! * Cerealis hauftus
Eft tibi, præsens relevare diro
Corticem aftriétum pice cum reducis,
Audin' ingenti tonat ut boatu
Fumidus! summo ruit ut lagenæ
Spumeus ore !
Cernis ! ut vitro nitet invidendo
Aureum nectar! comes it facetus
Cui jocus, quocum Venus & Cupido
Jam memor charæ, cyathum coronas,
Virginis :---plenum video !---ah! caveto
Dextra nè quasset malè, dum laborat
* Anglicè bottled ale.
Euge!---ficcâsti benè, fortiterque !---
Hinc adeft curæ medicina ! suaves
Hinc tibi fomni, & tibi fuaviora
Somnia somnis !
Hos bibens succos, nihil invidebis
Italis, quamvis cyathi Falerno
Dulcè nigrescant, neque Gallicanæ
Hic Johannensi latitans suili
Grunnio, scribens fitiente labro,
Aut graves hauftus, inimica Musis
THE wealth of Gyges I despise,
Gems are useless glittering toys.
Gold I leave, and such vain things,
To the low aim and pride of kings.
hair with unguents flow,
With rofy garlands crown my brow!
The present moment I enjoy,
Doom'd in the next, perhaps, to die !
Then, while the hour serenely shines,
Toss the gay die, and quaff thy wines :
But ever, in the genial hour,
To Bacchus the libation pour,
Lest death in wrath approach, and cry,
Man---taste no more the cup of joy.
* First published in the Gentleman's Magazine ; and afterwards inserted in the tranllations of Anacreon, published by Mr. Fawkes,
OD E XVI. The Power of B E A UTY.
OME sing of Thebes, and some destroy
In lofty numbers haughty Troy.
I mourn, alas ! in plaintive strains,
My own captivity and chains !
No navy, rang'd in proud array,
No foot, no horseman, arm'd to flay,
My peace alarm ! Far other foes,
Far other hosts, create my woes :
Strange, dangerous hosts, that ambush'd lie,
In every bright love-darting eye!
Such as destroy, when beauty arms,
To conquer, dreadful in its charms!
O DE XX. To his MISTRES S.
HE gods o'er mortals prove their sway ;
And steal them from theni selves away,
Transform’d by their almighty hands,
Sad Niobe an image stands ;
And Philomel, upborn on wings
Through air, her mournful story sings.
Would heaven, indulgent to my vow,
The happy change I wish allow :
The envy'd mirrour I would be,
That thou might'st always gaze on me;
And could my naked heart appear,
Thou'dst see thyself.--for thou art there !
O! were I made thy folding vest,
That thou might'st clasp me to thy breast !
Or turn'd into a fount, to lave
Thy naked beauties in my wave !
Thy bosom-cincture I would grow,
To warm those little hills of snow :
Thy ointment in rich fragrant streams
To wander o'er thy beauteous limbs.
Thy chain of thining pearl---to deck,
And close embrace thy graceful neck :
A very sandal I would be
To tread on-if trod on by thee!
LAS! alas : I see each day
Steals me from myself away,
And every step of life I tread,
I speed to mingle with the dead.
How many years are past, my friends,
I know, and there my knowledge ends.
How many years are still in store,
I neither can, nor would explore.
Then, since the hours incessant fly,
They all shall find me crown'd with joy.
To those, my cares I here bequeath,
Who meanly die for fear of death :
And daily with affiduous strife
Contrive to live, accurs'd with life.
Then Care begone! I'd dance and play, "Hence with thy serious face away!