They who don't know the Dangers, which attend
The glittering Court of a rich pow'rful Friend;
Love no Estate so much, and think they're blest,
When they but make a Leg amongst the rest;
But they who've try'd it, and with prudent Care
Do all its Honours, and its Ills compare,

Fear to engage, left with their Time and Pain,
They lose more Pleasure than they hop'd to gain.
See you, that while your Veffel's under Sail,
You make your best Advantage of the Gale;
Left the Wind changes, and some stormy Rain
Should throw you back to your first Port again.
You must endeavour to dispose your Mind
To please all Humours of a different kind;
Whose Temper's serious, and their Humour fad,
They think all blithe and merry Men are mad;
They who are merry, and whose Humour's free,
Abhor a fad and serious Gravity;

They who are flow and heavy, can't admit
The Friendship of a quick and ready Wit;

The Slothful hate the busie active Men,

And are detefted by the fame again.

They whofe free Humour prompts them to be gay, To Drink all Night, and Revel all the Day,

Abhor

Abhor the Man, that can his Cups refufe;
Though his untimely Virtue to excuse,

He fwears that one fuch merry drinking Feast,

Would make him Sick for a whole Week at least.

Suffer no Cloud to dwell upon your Brow,

The modest Men are thought obscure and low;
And they, who an affected Silence keep,
Are thought to be too rigid, fower and deep.
Amongst all other things, do not omit

To search the Writings of great Men of Wit,
And in the Conversation of the Wise,

In what true Happiness and Pleasure lyes;
Which are the fafeft rules to live at ease,
And the best way to make all fortunes please;
Leaft through the craving hopes of gaining more,
And fear of losing what you gain'd before,
Your poor unfatisfi'd misguided Mind,
To needy Wishes, and falfe Joys confin❜d,
Puts its free boundlefs fearching Thoughts in Chains,
And where it fought its Pleasure finds its Pains.
If virtuous Thoughts, and if a prudent Heart
Be giv'n by Nature, or obtain'd by Art;
What leffens Care, the Mind's uncafie Pain,
And reconciles us to our felves again;

Which doth the trueft Happiness create,
Unblemish'd Honour, or a great Estate;
Or a fafe private Quiet, which betrays
It self to ease, and cheats away the days.

When I am at

where my kind fate

Hath plac'd my little moderate Estate,

Where Nature's care hath equally employ'd
Its inward Treasures, and its outward Pride,
What Thoughts d'ye think those easie Joys inspire?
What do you think I covet and defire?
'Tis, That I may but undisturb'd poffefs
The littl' I have, and, if Heaven pleases, lefs;
That I, to Nature and my felf, may give

The little time that I have left to live;

Some Books, in which I fome new thoughts may find,
To entertain, and to refresh my Mind';

Some Horses, which may help me to partake
The lawful Pleasures which the Seasons make

An cafie Plenty, which at last may spare
The frugal Pains of a Domestick Care,

A Friend, if that a faithful Friend there be,
Who can love fuch an idle life, and me;

;

Then, Heav'n, give me but life and health, I'll find A grateful Soul, and a contented Mind.

SONG.

SONG

By Mr. WOLSELT.

Reedom is a real Treafure,

FA

Love a Dream, all false and vain,

Short, uncertain is the Pleafure,
Sure and lafting is the Pain.

WH

Hen Wits from Sighing turn to Railing,
Ill Success pleads fome excufe;

Always trying, ever failing,

Will provoke the dullest Muse.

2

Cupid a revengeful God is,

Woe be to the Poet's Heart,

Flannel Shirts and Whale-bone Bodice

Are not proof against his Dart.

Another

W

Another Anfwer.

HY this talking ftill of Dying,

Why this difmal Look and Groan,

Leave, fond Lover, leave your Sighing,

Let these fruitless Arts alone.

Love's the Child of Joy and Pleasure,
Born of Beauty, nurft with Wit,

Much amifs

you take your measure,

This dull whining way to hit.

Tender Maids you fright from loving,
By th' effect they see in you;
If you wou'd be truly moving,
Eagerly the Point pursue.
Brisk and gay appear in Woing,
Pleasant be if you wou'd please,
All this Talking, and no Doing,
Will not Love, but Hate, increase.

HORACE,