FONTENELLE'S PLURALITY OF WORLDS.
N this fmall work all nature's wonders fee,
The foften'd features of philofophy.
In truth by easy steps you here advance, Truth, as diverting as the best romance. Long had these arts to fages been confin'd, None faw their beauty, till by poring blind; By studying spent, like men that cram too full, From Wisdom's feast they rose not chear'd, but dull: The gay and airy fmil'd to fee 'em grave, And fled fuch wifdom like TROPHONIUS' cave. Juftly they thought they might those arts despise, Which made men fullen, ere they could be wife. Brought down to fight, with ease you view 'em here; Tho' deep the bottom, yet the ftream is clear. Your flutt'ring fex ftill valued fcience less; Careless of any, but the arts of dress. Their useless time was idly thrown away On empty novels, or fome new-born play. The best, perhaps, a few loose hours might spare
For fome unmeaning thing, miscall'd a pray'r.
In vain the glittering orbs, each starry night, With mingling blazes fhed a flood of light: Each nymph with cold indiff'rence saw 'em rise; And, taught by fops, to them preferr'd her eyes. None thought the stars were funs fo widely fown, None dreamt of other worlds, befides our own. Well might they boast their charms, when ev'ry fair Thought this world all, and hers the brightest here. Ah! quit not the large thoughts this book inspires, For thofe thin trifles which your fex admires ; Affert your claim to fenfe, and fhew mankind, That reafon is not to themselves confin'd. The haughty belle, whose beauty's awful shrine. "Twere facrilege t' imagine not divine, Who thought fo greatly of her eyes before, Bid her read this, and then be vain no more. How poor ev'n You, who reign without controul, If we except the beauties of your foul !
Should all beholders feel the fame furprize; Should all who fee you, fee you with my eyes; Were no fuch blafts to make that beauty lefs; Should you be what I think, what all confess : 'Tis but a narrow space those charms engage; One Island only, and not half an Age.
ON THE FIFTH OF DECEMBER,
Being the BIRTH-DAY of a very beautiful YOUNG LADY.
AIL eldest of the monthly train,
H Sire of the winter drear,
DECEMBER, in whofe iron reign Expires the chequer'd year:
Hufh all the bluft'ring blasts that blow, And proudly plum'd in filver fnow Smile gladly on this bleft of days; The livery'd clouds fhall on thee wait, And PHOEBUS fhine in all his ftate, With more than fummer rays. II.
'Tho' jocund JUNE may juftly boaft
Long days and happy hours; Tho' AUGUST be POMONA's hoft.
And MAY be crown'd with flow'rs; Tell JUNE his fire and crimfon dyes By HARRIOT's blush, and HARRIOT's eyes Eclips'd and vanquish'd fade away; Tell AUGUST, thou canst let him see A richer, riper fruit than He,
A fweeter flow'r than MAY,
SIR DAVID LYNDESAY'S DREAM.
WRITTEN IN THE REIGN OF KING JAMES V.
N the kalendies of Januarie,
When fresche PHOEBUS by moving circulair From Capricorn was enter'd in Aquarie, With blaftis that the branches made full bare, The fnow and fleet perturbit all the air, And flemit FLORA from everie bank and bus, Throuch fupport of the aufteir Eolus.
Efter that I the lang wynteris night
Had lyne waking in my bed allone
Throw hevy thought, that na way fleep I micht, Remembering of divers thingis gone:
Sa up I rois, and cleithit me anone
By this fair Titan with his lemis licht
O'er all the land had spred his banner bricht.
With cloke and hude I dreffit me belive, With dowbill schone, and myttains on my handis, Howbeit the air was richt penetratyve,
Zet fure I forth lanfing outhort the landis, Towards the fea, to fchort me on the fandis Because unblomit was baith bank and bray, And fa as I was paffing by the way,
I met dame FLORA in dule weid disagyfit, Quilk into May was dulce and delectabill, With ftalwart ftormis hir sweetness was furprifit, Hir heavinlie hewis war turnit into fabill, Quilkis umguile war to Luffaris amiabill, Fled from the froift, the tender flouris I faw Under dame Nature's mantill lurking law.
"The fmall fowlis in flockis faw I flee To nature makand lamentatioun,
They lichtit down beside me on ane tree, Of thair complaint I had compassioun, And with ane piteous exclamation
They faid "blyffit be fomer with his flouris,
"And waryit be thou wynter with thy fchowris.
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