A dupe to follies yet untry'd,
And fick of pleasures, fcarce enjoy'd !
Each prize poffefs'd, thy tranfport ceafes,
And in pursuit alone it pleases

The

DE

FIRE-S I D E.

By Dr. COTTON.

I.

EAR Chloe, while the bufy crowd,
The vain, the wealthy, and the proud,
In Folly's maze advance;

Tho' fingularity and pride

Be call'd our choice, we'll step afide,
Nor join the giddy dance.

II.

From the gay world we'll oft retire
To our own family and fire,

Where love our hours employs ;
No noify neighbour enters here,
No intermeddling ftranger near,

To spoil our heart-felt joys.

III. If

III.

If folid happiness we prize,
Within our breast this jewel lies;

And they are fools who roam;

The world has nothing to bestow,

From our own felves our joys must flow,

And that dear hut, our home.

IV.

Of reft was Noah's dove bereft,

When with impatient wing fhe left

That fafe retreat, the ark;

Giving her vain excurfion o'er,

The disappointed bird once more

Explor❜d the facred bark.

V.

Tho' fools fpurn Hymen's gentle pow'rs,
We, who improve his golden hours,
By sweet experience know,

That marriage rightly understood,
Gives to the tender and the good

A paradise below.

VI.

Our babes fhall richest comforts bring,
If tutor'd right, they'll prove a spring,

Whence pleasures ever rife:

We'll form their minds with ftudious care,

To all that's manly, good, and fair,

And train them for the skies.

VII. While

VII.

While they our wifeft hours engage,
They'll joy our youth, fupport our age,
And crown our hoary hairs:

They'll grow in virtue ev'ry day,
And thus our fondeft loves repay,
And recompenfe our cares.

VIII.

No borrow'd joys! they're all our own,
While to the world we live unknown,
Or by the world forgot:

Monarchs! we envy not your state,
We look with pity on the great,
And blefs our humbler lot.
IX.

Our portion is not large indeed,
But then, how little do we need,
For Nature's calls are few!

In this the art of living lies,

To want no more than may fuffice,
And make that little do.

X.

We'll therefore relish with content^,
Whate'er kind Providence has fent,

Nor aim beyond our pow'r;

For if our ftock be very fmall, 'Tis prudence to enjoy it all, Nor lofe the present hour.

XI.

To be refign'd, when ills betide,
Patient, when favours are deny'd,

And pleas'd with favours giv❜n ;
Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part,
This is that incenfe of the heart;

Whose fragrance fmells to heav'n.
XII.

Well afk no long protracted treat,
(Since winter life is feldom fweet ;)
But when our feast is o'er,

Grateful from table we'll arise,

Nor grudge our fons with envious eyes,
The relicks of our store.

XIII.

Thus hand in hand thro' life we'll

Its checker'd paths of joy and woe

go,

With cautious steps we'll tread ;
Quit its vain scenes without a tear,
Without a trouble or a fear,

And mingle with the dead.
XIV.

While Confcience, like a faithful friend,
Shall, thro' the gloomy vale attend,

And cheer our dying breath;
Shall, when all other comforts ceafe,
Like a kind angel whisper peace,

And fmooth the bed of death.

TO

T

TO-MORROW.

By the Same.

Pereunt et Imputantur.

O-morrow, didst thou fay!

Methought I heard Horatio fay, To-morrow.

Go to I will not hear of it-To-morrow!

"Tis a fharper, who stakes his penury

Against thy plenty--who takes thy ready cash,
And pays thee nought but wishes, hopes, and promises,
The currency of ideots.Injurious bankrupt,

That gulls the easy 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 baseless
As the fantastic vifions of the evening.

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

Tracklefs,