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Ye fair, by nature form'd to move,
With youth's enlivening fite:
And ask an angel's lyre."
DEAR Chloe, while the busy crowd,
In Folly's maze advance ;
Nor join the giddy dance.
From the gay world we'll oft retire
Where love our hours employs;
To spoil our heart-felt joys.
If solid happiness we prize,
And they are fools who roam :
And thạt dear hut our home.
Of rest was Noah's dove bereft,
That safe retreat, the ark;
Giving her vain excursion o'er,
Explor'd the sacred bark.
Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle powers, We, who improve his golden hours,
By sweet experience know, That marriage, rightly understood, Gives to the tender and the good
A paradise below.
Our babes shall richest comforts bring;
Whence pleasures ever rise:
And train them for the skies.
While they our wisest hours engage,
And crown our hoary hairs:
And recompense our cares.
No borrow'd joys, they're all our own,
Or by the world forgot:
And bless our humble lot.
Our portion is not large, indeed ;
For nature's calls are few :
And make that little do.
We'll therefore relish, with content,
Nor aim beyond our power ;
Nor lose the present hour.
To be resign'd when ills betide,
And pleased with favours given;
Whose fragrance smells to heaven.
We'll ask no long protracted treat,
But when our feast is o'er,
The relics of our store.
Thus, hand in hand, through life we'll go ; Its chequer'd paths of joy and wo
With cautious steps we'll tread ;
Quit its vain scenes without a tear,
And mingle with the dead.
While Conscience, like a faithful friend, Shall through the gloomy vale attend,
And cheer our dying breath ; Shall, when all other comforts cease, Like a kind angel whisper peace,
And smooth the bed of death,