May the voyage of Life, Free from tempest and strife, Prove as calm as a smooth water coasting. But should some sudden squall, incidental to all Be your's and my lot to have such a pilot 2 For to what point soe'er Of the compass we steer, 'Tis as sure as the light That the joys of the night Will ne'er shrink from the morning's reflection. And when rest or refreshment succeeds work or play, That enjoyment from each it may still flow, May true Friendship's hand lead us on by the way, And true Love share the rest of our pillow. 3 But, blow high, or blow low, Let it rain, freeze, or snow, And clay-cold and wet should our birth be, The lamb newly shorn Shews the blast may be borne, Should our station on sea or on earth be: And, as poor Robin Red-breast will chirp on the spray, Almost stripp'd by the frost of each feather, May a Conscience as clear as the sun at noon day Keep us warm in the coldest of weather. VII. MIRTII. A Glee for four voices: by Paxton. WRITTEN BY DR. SCOTT. COME, oh come, delightful guest! Here diffuse thy choicest treasure. Sportive Song and merry glee; But ah, sweet maid, all playful tricks remove, Shall applaud thy festive measures; Darting joyous smiles along, Giving and receiving pleasures: What sweet raptures fire the mind When beauty's charms, and music are combin'd! VIII. THE SHORTNESS OF LIFE. ALTERED FROM A DUET. 1 COULD a Man be secure That his life would endure, As of old for a thousand long year, What arts might he know, What acts might be do, And all without hurry or care. 2 But, as we have but span-long lives, The more we'll call each hour a treasure; And, since Time will not stay, We'll seize upon the present day, And with good deeds will fill the measure. IX. A DEHORTATION FROM DRINKING. BY A LATE EMINENT PHYSICIAN. From the London Magazine for September 1746. 1 PASS by a tavern door, my son, This sacred truth write on thy heart: 'Tis easier company to shun, Than at a pint it is to part. 2 For one pint draws another in, And thus, in th' morn, they tap the day, 3 Not dreaming of a sudden bounce, 4 An apoplexy kills as sure As cannon ball; and oft as soon; And will no more yield to a cure, Than murdering chain-shot from a gun. 5 Why should men dread a cannon bore, That may fall short, shoot wide, or o'er, But drinking is the surer shot. 6 How many fools about this town, 7 Until a dart from Death's full quiver, Does shoot his Tartar thro' the liver, 8 Good wine will kill, as well as bad, When drunk beyond our nature's bounds; Then wine gives life a mortal stab, And leaves her welt'ring in her wounds. Such were the rules old BAYNARD gave ANTI-ANACREONTIC. X. SAY! what are the pleasures which Wine can impart? Can it pluck out the Arrows of Scorn from the heart? Erase from the bosom the Image of Care? Or furnish a balm for the Soul of Despair? |