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Of a Medical Conversation between two Apothecaries, on a
wet Day in October, while their Patient was expiring of a Dropsy.
PULSE doubly felt, and stay protracted
Well, Sir,-I think--but take this seat,
"! Dear Sir.”_45. I entreat:
" Why, Sir, (I'm getting somewhat dryer;
I'll give it desperandum nil.”
They parted, to meet there no more
By disease or a cord would from life be ejected; “ My Lord," quoth the wag," that depends whether I
By your mistress or principles first am infected.”
G. H. D.
TO M. MENARD.
FROM THE FRENCH OF RACAN.
Now that Winter, with gloomy and rigorous sway, Hurls his tempests, his sleet, and his snow all the day,
And keeps us besieg’d by the fire, Let us drown in the glass all our cares as we ought, Nor give taxes, and parties, and statesmen a thought
Nor who fights and who conquers enquire. I know, dear Menard, all the works that you write, Fruits immortal of many a slumberless, night,
Will live till the world meets its doom:
When you feed the worms of the tombs
The ruby-red sparkling stores.
In the cups of the deities pours. "Tis wine that so swiftly speeds onward the years, That each scarce a day to our fancy appears :
"Tis wine makes us youthful once more:
Tis wine that alone from the bosom bids ily
And the dread of the sorrows in store.
Let us drink, dear Menard, let us fill high our glasses, For Time, stealing on, imperceptibly passes ;
He leads to the close of our course, "Twere in vain to entreat for a moment of grace, The years will as little their footsteps retrace,
As rivers run back to their source.
The Spring, cloth'd with light, and with verdure, and
The sea has its ebb and its rise;
For ever, for ever he flies !
The laws of stern Death seize resistless on all !
And the reed-cover'd hut of the swain.
By the same steel they sever in twain, By their tyrannous power nought on earth is rever'd, It strikes, and the things that eternal appear'd
Like the visions of slumberers sink : By that power, dear Menard, we too soon shall be led, In the regions of darkness and silence to tread, And the stream of oblivion to drink.
R. A. DAVENPORT.
IN IMITATION OF HORACE, BOOK II. OD. 16.
Otium Divos, &c. &c.
ease, the wearied Seaman sighs When cloudy night involves the skies,
Nor moon, nor stars appear;
And heightens every fear.
For ease the hardy sons of war,
'Mid carnag'd fields implore, For ease, a blessing never sold, Beyond the price of gems or gold,
Those toys the vain adore.
For neither gold 'nor gems combin'd
Which forc'd the wretch to roam,