Saith Lacon,

WERE we as eloquent as angels, yet should we please some men, some women, some children, much more by listening than by talking.

Colton.

A New Mistress.

CALL me not, love, unkind,

That from the nunnerie

Of thy chaste heart and quiet mind,
To war and arms I flie.

Another mistress hence I chace,

The first foe in the field,

And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Lovelace.

To an Editor.

So rude and senseless are thy lays,

The weary audience vows,

'Tis not the Arcadian swain that sings,

But 'tis his herd that lows.

Shenstone.

Auscultare quam loquí.

DIVINO licet eloquaris ore,

Pluribus, mihi crede, gratiosus

Auscultando eris, Aule, quam loquendo.

B. H. K.

Nobus Amor.

PARCE precor verbis, cara, indulgere severis,
Quod de tam casta sede libenter agar,
Sede tuæ mentis tranquillæ in pectore puro,
Et celer in pugnas et media arma ruam,
Quicunque instructo per campos imperat hosti,
Est novus a nobis ille petendus amor;
Danda fides clypeo, danda est jam certior ensi,
Et magis ardentem solicitamus equum.

B. H. D.

Ad Editorem.

TAM rude carmen habes, ita sunt sine Apolline versus,

(Pertæsus auditor crepat)

Non est Arcadicus qui cantat arundine pastor,

Armenta sunt quæ mugiunt.

B.

Catiline.

You might have lived in servitude and exile,
Or safe at Rome, depending on the great ones :
But that you thought these things unfit for men,
And in that thought you then were valiant.
For no man ever yet changed peace for war,
But he that meant to conquer.

Hold that purpose.

There's more necessity you should be such

In fighting for yourselves, than they for others.
He's base that trusts his feet when hands are armed.

Methinks I see Death and the Furies waiting

What we will do, and all the heaven at leisure
For the great spectacle. Draw then your swords:
And if our destiny envy our virtue

The honour of the day, yet let us care
To sell ourselves at such a price as may

Undo the world to buy us.

Ben Jonson.

To Freetraders.

I FILL your granaries: I give you meat:

Take my fifth part, Sirs, and I'll leave you-Heat.

Δ.

Catilina.

ὙΜΙΝ ὑπῆρχ ̓ ἂν πατρίδος τητωμένους, ἢ δεσπότων κλυόντας, ἀντλῆσαι βιόν ἐξῆν δὲ κἀκεῖ, τοῖς ὑπερτάτοις πόλεως ὑπηρετοῦντας· ταῦτα δ ̓ οὐκ ἐν ἀνδράσι πρέπειν τοθ ̓ ἡγήσασθε, παντόλμῳ φρενί οὐ γὰρ, τὸ νικᾶν μὴ τρέφων ἐν ἐλπίσιν, οὐδεὶς ποτ ̓ ἀντήλλαξεν εἰρήνης "Αρην. τούτων μὲν οὖν ἔχεσθε· τοιοῦτον φρονεῖν, μᾶλλόν γ', ἑαυτοῖς οἷς ἀμύνεσθαι πάρα, ἢ τοῖς ἐπ ̓ ἀλλῶν καρτερήσασιν μάχην χρῆναι λέγοιμ ̓ ἂν τὰς χερὰς δ ̓ ὡπλισμένος πόσιν πεποιθὼς αἰσχρότητ ̓ ὀφλισκάνει. εἶεν τηρεῖν ἐοίκασ ̓ αἵ τ ̓ Εριννύες τάδε Θάνατός θ' ὑπερστὰς, πραγμάτων τ ̓ ἐπίσκοποι πάντες σχολάζειν οἱ κατ ̓ οὐρανὸν θεοί. οὐκοῦν ξιφῶν ἅπτεσθε; κἂν ἡμῖν τύχη φθονοῦσ ̓ ἀριστεύσασι μὴ νικᾶν διδῷ, ὁμῶς τοσάυτην ἀντὶ τῶνδε σωμάτων τιμὴν ἂν ἐκπραξαίμεθ', ὥστ ̓ ὠνουμένην γῆν πᾶσαν ἡμᾶς ἐν μέρει διολλύναι.

PER me plena tument granaria: tu modo quintam Deme mihi partem, quid tibi restat ?—eges.

R. S.

Elegy.

THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,

Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds:

Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower,

The moping owl does to the Moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign.

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn,

The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,

No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care:

No children run to lisp their sire's return,

Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.