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TO-MORROW.

TO-MORROW, didst thou say!
Methought I heard Horatio fay, To-morrow!
Go to-I will not hear of it-To-morrow!
'Tis a sharper, who stakes his penury

Against thy plenty-who takes thy ready cash,
And pays thee nought, but wishes, hopes, and pro-
mifes,

The currency of ideots. Injurious bankrupt,
That gulls the eafy creditor! To-morrow!
It is a period no where to be found

In all the hoary registers of time,
Unless perchance in the fool's calendar.
Wisdom disclaims the word, nor holds fociety
With those who own it. No, my Horatio,
"Tis Fancy's Child, and Folly is its father;
Wrought of fuch stuff as dreams are; and bafelefs
As the fantastic vifions of the evening.

But foft, my friend, arreft the present moments;
For be affur'd they all are arrant tell-tales;
And tho' their flight be filent, and their path track.

le fs

As the wing'd couriers of the air,

They poft to Heaven, and there record thy follyK

Because, tho' ftation'd on th' important watch,
Thou, like a fleeping, faithless centinel,

Didft let them pafs unnotic'd, unimprov'd.
And know, for that thou slumber'dft on the guard,
Thou shalt be made to answer at the bar
For every fugitive: and when thou thus
Shalt ftand impleaded at the high tribunal
Of hood-wink'd Justice, who fhall tell thy audit?
Then ftay the prefent inftant, dear Horatio;
Imprint the marks of wisdom on its wings :

'Tis of more worth than kingdoms! far more pre

cious

Than all the crimson treasures of life's fountain!

O! let it not elude thy grafp, but, like

The good old patriarch upon record,

Hold the fleet angel fast, until he bless thee.

COTTON.

THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS.

THE midnight moon ferenely fmiles
O'er Nature's soft repose;

No low'ring cloud obfcures the sky,
Nor ruffling tempeft blows.

Now every paffion finks to reft,

The throbbing heart lies ftill; And varying schemes of life no more Distract the lab'ring will.

In filence hufh'd, to Reason's voice,
Attends each mental pow'r;
Come, dear Amelia, and enjoy
Reflection's fav'rite hour.

Come, while the peaceful fcene invites,
Let's fearch this ample round,
Where fhall the lovely fleeting form
Of Happiness be found?

Does it amid the frolic mirth

Of gay affemblies dwell;

Or hide beneath the folemn gloom,
That fades the hermit's cell?

How oft the laughing brow of joy
A fick❜ning heart conceals!
And, thro' the cloifter's deep recefs,
Invading forrow steals.

In vain, thro' beauty, fortune, wit,

The fugitive we trace;

It dwells not in the faithlefs fimile,
That brightens Clodio's face.

Perhaps the joy to thefe deny'd,

The heart in friendship finds :
Ah! dear delufion, gay conceit
Of vifionary minds!

Howe'er our varying notions rove,
Yet all agree in one,

To place its being in some state,
At diftance from our own.

O blind to each indulgent aim,
Of power fupremely wife,
Who fancy Happiness in ought

The Hand of Heaven denies !

Vain is alike the joy we feek,
And vain what we poffefs,
Unless harmonious Reafon tunes

The paffions into peace.

To temper'd wishes, juft defires,

Is happiness confin'd;

And, deaf to Folly's call, attends

The mufic of the mind.

CARTER,

THE ROSE.

HOW fair is the rofe! what a beautiful How'r!
The Glory of April and May!

But the leaves are beginning to fade in an hour,
And they wither and die in a day.

Yet the rofe has one powerful virtue to boast,
Above all the flow'rs of the field:

When its leaves are all dead, and fine colours are loft,

Still how sweet a perfume it will yield!

So frail is the youth and the beauty of men,
Tho' they bloom and look gay like the rose:
But all our fond care to preferve them is vain;
Time kills them as faft as he goes.

Then I'll not be proud of my youth or my beauty,
Since both of them wither and fade;

But gain a good name by well doing my duty;
This will fcent like a rofe when I'm dead.

WATTS.

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