LXXXIII. THE CONTENTED MAN. HAPPY the man whose wish and care Content to breathe his native air In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, In winter, fire. Blest, who can unconcern'dly find Quiet by day, Sound sleep by night; study and ease With meditation. Thus let me live unseen, unknown; Tell where I lie. Alexander Pope. LXXXIV. PHILLIS UNWILLING. A CHOIR of bright beauties in spring did appear, All the nymphs were in white, and the shepherds in green, But Phillis refused it, and sighing did say, I'll not wear a garland while Pan is away. While Pan and fair Syrinx are fled from our shore, Forbear your addresses, and court us no more, But if you dare think of deserving our charms, LXXXV. TELL me no more I am deceived, As such I liked, as such caress'd, But O! her thoughts on others ran; You think she's false, I'm sure she's kind, -Who has the better bargain? William Congreve. LXXXVI. FORTUNE. A Fragment. FORTUNE, that, with malicious joy, Proud of her office to destroy, I can enjoy her while she's kind; And shakes her wings and will not stay, The little or the much she gave, is quietly resign'd: And virtue, tho' in rags, will keep me warm. John Dryden. LXXXVII. FAIR Amoret is gone astray, Pursue, and seek her, every lover; Coquet and coy at once her air, Both studied, tho' both seem neglected; Affecting to seem unaffected. With skill her eyes dart every glance, Yet change so soon you'd ne'er suspect them; For she'd persuade they wound by chance, Though certain aim and art direct them. She likes herself, yet others hates For that which in herself she prizes; And, while she laughs at them, forgets William Congreve. LXXXVIII. FABLE, RELATED BY A BEAU TO ÆSOP. A BAND, a Bob-wig, and a Feather, Told her, if she would please to wed Old solemn truth, With books and morals, into bed, The Bob, he talked of management, He said 'twas wealth gave joy and mirth, Of one, who labour'd all his life And not spend sixpence when he'd done, When these two blades had done, d'ye see, Steps out, sir, from behind the screen, It proved such sunshine weather, And off they went together! LXXXIX. Sir John Vanbrugh. A PAIR WELL MATCHED. FAIR Iris I love, and hourly I die, 'Tis civil to swear, and to say things of course; The legend of Love no couple can find, John Dryden. XC. THE BAG OF THE BEE. ABOUT the sweet bag of a bee, And whose the pretty prize should be, Which Venus hearing, thither came, Which done, to still their wanton cries, Robert Herrick. XCI. CUPID MISTAKEN. As after noon, one summer's day, New strung his bow, new fill'd his quiver. With skill he chose his sharpest dart : I faint! I die! the goddess cried: Like Nero, thou hast slain thy mother. Poor Cupid sobbing scarce could speak; "Indeed, mama, I did not know ye: Alas! how easy my mistake? I took you for your likeness, Chloe." Matthew Prior. |