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Updated: June 24, 2025
And oft at midnight's stillest hour, When summer seas the vessel lave, I love to prove my charmful pow'r While floating on the moon-light wave. And when deep sleep the crew has bound, And the sad lover musing leans O'er the ship's side, I breathe around Such strains as speak no mortal means!
Patron thou art of every gross abuse; The sullen husband's feign'd excuse, When the ill humours with his wife he spends, And bears recruited wit, and spirits to his friends The son of Bacchus pleads thy pow'r As to the glass he still repairs Pretends but to remove thy cares, Snatch from thy shades, one gay, and smiling hour, And drown thy kingdom in a purple show'r.
To this purpose he often repeated these verses: "Offer to heaven according to thy pow'r: Th' indulgent gracious gods require no more." And not only in this, but in all the other occasions of life, he thought the best advice he could give his friends was to do all things according to their ability.
"Ungrateful Damon, is it come to this? Are these the happy scenes of promis'd bliss? Ne'er hope, vain Laura, future peace to prove; Content ne'er harbors with neglected love." "Consider, fair, the ever-restless pow'r, Shifts with the breeze, and changes with the hour: Above restraint, he scorns a fixt abode, And on his silken plumes flies forth the rambling god."
Nor must the amateur husbandman scan with too anxious eye the weather map and the clouds. If he mind these warnings he may learn to say, "For me kind Nature wakes her genial pow'r, Suckles each herb, and spreads out ev'ry flower, Annual for me, the grape, the rose renew, The juice nectareous, and the balmy dew."
Yes, Sir, I will have mercy; I'll give you Lodging but in a Dungeon, Sir, Where you shall ask your Food of Passers by. Bel. All this, I know, you have the Pow'r to do; But, Sir, were I thus cruel, this hard Usage Would give me Cause to execute it.
Beauty, with Love, her Pow'r to Yours prefers: And Wit, and Learning, are already, Hers! Rous'd, at her name, receding from her Eyes, The gazing God rose slow, in soft Surprise! Fair Miracle, he said, and paus'd a while: Then, thus, Sweet Glory, of your envied Isle! Charm'd, and oblig'd, lest, we ungrateful seem, Bear hence, at least, one Mark of our Esteem.
"Thus made free from that relation, Which the serpent did begin, Trav'ling in regeneration, Having pow'r to cease from sin; Dead unto a carnal nature, From that tyrant ever free, Singing praise to our Creator, For this blessed jubilee.
To friends in steely fetters twin'd And to the cruel not unkind; But chief the lord of my desire, My life, myself, my soul, my sire, Friends, children, all that wish can claim, Chaste passion clasp, and rapture name. Oh! spare him, spare him, gracious Pow'r: Oh! give him to my latest hour, Let me my length of life employ, To give my sole enjoyment joy.
"The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike the inevitable hour: The paths of glory lead but to the grave." And the following, we believe, though quoting from a thirty-three years' recollection of it, is the exact Greek version of Cook:
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