And trembling vows, she'll ne'er again
Approach the shore, or view the main.

Once more at least look back, said I;
Thyself in that large glass descry:
When thou art in good humor drest;
When gentle reason rules thy breast;
The sun upon the calmest sea
Appears not half so bright as thee:
"Tis then that with delight I rove
Upon the boundless depth of love:
I bless my chain; I hand my oar;
Nor think on all I left on shore.

But when vain doubt and groundless fear
Do that dear foolish bosom tear;
When the big lip, and watery eye

Tell me the rising storm is nigh:
'Tis then thou art yon angry main,

Deformed by winds, and dashed by rain;
And the poor sailor, that must try
Its fury, labors less than I.

Shipwrecked, in vain to land I make;
While Love and Fate still drive me back:
Forced to dote on thee thy own way,

I chide thee first, and then obey.

Wretched when from thee, vexed when nigh,

I with thee, or without thee, die.

EUPHELIA AND CLOE.

The merchant, to secure his treasure,
Conveys it in a borrowed name:
Euphelia serves to grace my measure;
But Cloe is my real flame.

My softest verse, my darling lyre,

Upon Euphelia's toilet lay;

When Cloe noted her desire,

That I should sing, that I should play.

My lyre I tune, my voice I raise;

But with my numbers mix my sighs:

And whilst I sing Euphelia's praise,

I fix my soul on Cloe's eyes.

Fair Cloe blushed: Euphelia frowned:

I sung and gazed: I played and trembled:

And Venus to the Loves around

Remarked how ill we all dissembled.

THE LADY TO VENUS.

Venus, take my votive glass,
Since I am not what I was;
What from this day I shall be,
Venus, let me never see.

LOVE DISARMED.

Beneath a myrtle's verdant shade
As Chloë half asleep was laid,
Cupid perched lightly on her breast,
And in that heaven desired to rest;
Over her paps his wings he spread;
Between he found a downy bed,
And nestled in his little head.

Still lay the god; the nymph, surprised,

Yet mistress of herself, devised
How she the vagrant might inthrall,
And captive him who captives all.

Her bodice half-way she unlaced;
About his arms she slyly cast
The silken bond, and held him fast.

The god awakes; and thrice in vain
He strove to break the cruel chain;
And thrice in vain he shook his wing,
Incumbered in the silken string.

Fluttering, the god, and weeping, said:-
"Pity poor Cupid, generous maid,
Who happened, being blind, to stray,
And on thy bosom lost his way;

Who strayed, alas! but knew too well
He never there must hope to dwell.
Set an unhappy prisoner free,
Who ne'er intended harm to thee."

"To me pertains not," she replies,
"To know or care where Cupid flies;
What are his haunts, or which his way;
Where he would dwell, or whither stray;
Yet will I never set thee free;

For harm was meant, and harm to me."

"Vain fears that vex thy virgin heart!
I'll give thee up my bow and dart:
Untangle but this cruel chain,
And freely let me fly again."

"Agreed: secure my virgin heart;
Instant give up thy bow and dart:
The chain I'll in return untie;
And freely thou again shalt fly."

Thus she the captive did deliver;
The captive thus gave up his quiver.

The god, disarmed, e'er since that day
Passes his life in harmless play;

Flies round, or sits upon her breast,

A little, fluttering, idle guest.

E'er since that day the beauteous maid
Governs the world in Cupid's stead;
Directs his arrow as she wills;

Gives grief, or pleasure; spares, or kills.

FULL DISCHARGE.

To John I owed great obligation;
But John, unhappily, thought fit

To publish it to all the nation;

So John and I are more than quit.

DEMOCRITUS AND HERACLITUS.

Democritus, dear droll, revisit earth,

And with our follies glut thy heightened mirth;
Sad Heraclitus, serious wretch, return,

In louder grief our greater crimes to mourn.
Between you both I unconcerned stand by:
Hurt, can I laugh? and honest, need I cry?

MISINFORMED.

When Bibo thought fit from the world to retreat,
As full of champagne as an egg's full of meat,
He woke in the boat, and to Charon he said,
He would be rowed back, for he was not yet dead.
"Trim the boat and sit quiet," stern Charon replied:
"You may have forgot - You were drunk when you

died."

THE GRUMBLING HIVE, OR KNAVES TURNED HONEST.

BY BERNARD MANDEVILLE.

[BERNARD MANDEVILLE, ethical speculator and satirist, was born 1670, at Rotterdam; studied and took M.D. at the University of Leyden; and settled in London as a physician in 1691. The popular resentment over the corruptions incident to the War of the Spanish Succession led him, in 1705, to publish the skit "The Grumbling Hive," a half-serious paradox whose moral was afterwards digested as "Private vices are public benefits." His rejoinders to attacks upon it drew him on to maintain this principle as a serious basis of society, in "An inquiry into the Origin of Moral Virtue" (1714), and “A Search into the Origin of Society (1723), etc., aimed at Shaftesbury; and it fills a large space in the ethical speculation of the eighteenth century. He wrote other works, medical and general, not now important. Died 1733.]

A SPACIOUS hive well flockt with bees,
That lived in luxury and ease,

And yet as famed for laws and arms
As yielding large and early swarms,
Was counted the great nursery
Of sciences and industry.
No bees had better government,
More fickleness, or less content:
They were not slaves to tyranny,
Nor ruled by wild democracy;
But kings, that could not wrong, because
Their power was circumscribed by laws.

These insects lived like men, and all
Our actions they performed in small;
They did whatever's done in town,
And what belongs to sword or gown.
Though th' artful works, by nimble flight
Of minute limbs, 'scaped human sight,
Yet we've no engines, laborers,

Ships, castles, arms, artificers,

Craft, science, shop or instrument,

But they had an equivalent;

Which, since their language is unknown,

Must be called as we do our own.

As grant, that among other things,

They wanted dice, yet they had kings;

And those had guards: from whence we may
Justly conclude, they had some play;

Unless a regiment be shown

Of soldiers that make use of none.
VOL. XVI. - -2

Vast numbers thronged the fruitful hive.
Yet those vast numbers made 'em thrive:
Millions endeavoring to supply
Each other's lust and vanity;

Whilst other millions were employed
To see their handiworks destroyed;
They furnished half the universe,
Yet had more work than laborers.

Some with vast stocks and little pains,
Jumped into business of great gains;
And some were damned to scythes and spades,
And all those hard laborious trades,

Where willing wretches daily sweat,

And wear out strength and limbs to eat:
Whilst others followed mysteries,

To which few folks bind 'prentices,

That want no stock but that of brass,
And may set up without a cross;
As sharpers, parasites, pimps, players,
Pickpockets, coiners, quacks, soothsayers,
And all those that in enmity

With downright working, cunningly
Convert to their own use the labor

Of their good-natured heedless neighbor.
These were called knaves, but bar the name,

The grave industrious were the same:

All trades and places knew some cheat,

No calling was without deceit.

The lawyers, of whose art the basis Was raising feuds and splitting cases, Opposed all registers, that cheats

Might make more work with dipt estates;

As wer't unlawful that one's own

Without a lawsuit should be known.

They kept off hearings wilfully,

To finger the refreshing fee;

And to defend a wicked cause,
Examined and surveyed the laws,
As burglars shops and houses do,

To find out where they'd best break through.
Physicians valued fame and wealth
Above the drooping patient's health,
Or their own skill: the greatest part
Studied, instead of rules of art,
Grave pensive looks and dull behavior,
To gain th' apothecaries' favor;