She mourn'd him wounded in the fatal chace,
Nor dead difmifs'd him from her warm embrace.
Tho' young Endymion was by Cynthia blest,
I envy nothing but his lasting rest.
Iafion flumbering on the Cretan plain
Ceres once faw, and bleft the happy swain
With pleasures too divine for ears profane.
My head grows giddy, love affects me fore;
Yet you regard not; fo I'll fing no more
Here will I put a period to my care ——
Adieu, false nymph, adieu, ungrateful fair:
Stretch'd near the grotto, when I've breath'd my
My corfe will give the wolves a rich repast, [last,
As fweet to them, as honey to your tafte.
OR. THE XIXTH IDYLLIUM OF THEOCRITUS.
S Cupid, the flyeft young wanton alive,
Aof its hoard of fweet honey was robbing a hive,
The sentinel bee buzz'd with anger and grief,
And darted his fting in the hand of the thief.
He fobb'd, blew his fingers, stamp'd hard on the
ground,
And leaping in anguish show'd Venus the wound;
Then began in a forrowful tone to complain,
That an infect fo little should cause so great pain.
Venus fmiling, her fon in fuch taking to fee,
Said, "Cupid, you put me in mind of a bee;
"You're juft fuch a bufy, diminutive thing,
"Yet you make woeful wounds with a desperate
fting."
FROM THE GREEK OF POSIDIPPUS.
Hat tranquil road, unvex'd by ftrife,
Can mortals chufe thro' human life?
Attend the courts, attend the bar-
There difcord reigns, and endless jar:
At home the weary wretches find
Severe difquietude of mind;
To till the fields, gives toil and pain;
Eternal terrors sweep the main:
If rich, we fear to lose our store,
Need and diftrefs await the
poor:
Sad cares the bands of hymen give;
Friendlefs, forlorn, th' unmarried live:
Are children born? we anxious groan;
Childless, our lack of heirs we moan :
Wild, giddy schemes our youth engage;
Weakness and wants deprefs old age.
Would fate then with my wifh comply,
I'd never live, or quickly die.
FROM THE GREEK OF METRODORUS.
Ankind may rove, unvex'd by ftrife,
road of human life.
Fair wisdom regulates the bar,
And peace concludes the wordy war:
At home aufpicious mortals find
Serene tranquillity of mind;
All-beauteous nature decks the plain,
And merchants plough for gold the main:
Refpect arifes from our store,
Security from being poor:
More joys the bands of hymen give;
Th' unmarried with more freedom live:
If parents, our bleft lot we own;
Childless, we have no caufe to moan:
Firm vigour crowns our youthful stage,
And venerable hairs old-age.
Since all is good, then who would cry,
"I'd never live, or quickly die?"
ON THE EPIGRAM OF PODISIPPUS.
BY FRANCIS, LORD VERULAM.
HE world's a bubble, and the life of man
In his conception wretched, from the womb,
Curs'd from the cradle, and brought up to years
With cares and fears:
Who then to frail mortality shall truft,
But limns the water, or but writes in duft.
And where's a city from all vice fo free,
But may be term'd the worst of all the three?
Domestic cares afflict the husband's bed,
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