The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. Containing, besides his Sermons, and Essays on miscellaneous subjects, several additional pieces, Selected from his Manuscripts by the Rev. Dr. Jennings, and the Rev. Dr. Doddridge, in 1753: to which are prefixed, memoirs of the life of the author, compiled by the Rev. George Burder. In six volumes |
 | IV. |
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
|
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
TO JOHN HARTOPP, ESQ. (NOW SIR JOHN HARTOPP, BART.)
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| III. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| VIII. |
 | The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. |  |
TO JOHN HARTOPP, ESQ. (NOW SIR JOHN HARTOPP, BART.)
Casimire, book i. ode 4. Imitated.
Vive jucundæ metuens juventæ, &c.
July, 1700.
I
Live, my dear Hartopp, live to-day,Nor let the sun look down and say,
‘Inglorious here he lies,’
Shake off your ease, and send your name
To immortality and fame,
By ev'ry hour that flies.
II
Youth's a soft scene, but trust her not:Her airy minutes, swift as thought,
Slide off the slipp'ry sphere;
Moons with their months make hasty rounds,
The sun has pass'd his vernal bounds,
And whirls about the year.
III
Let folly dress in green and red,And gird her waist with flowing gold,
Knit blushing roses round her head,
Alas! the gaudy colours fade,
The garment waxes old.
Hartopp, mark the withering rose,
And the pale gold how dim it shows!
IV
Bright and lasting bliss belowIs all romance and dream;
Only the joys celestial flow
In an eternal stream,
The pleasures that the smiling day
With large right-hand bestows,
Falsly her left conveys away,
And shuffles in our woes.
So have I seen a mother play,
And cheat her silly child,
She gave and took a toy away,
The infant cry'd and smil'd.
V
Airy chance, and iron fateHurry and vex our mortal state,
And all the race of ills create;
Now fiery joy, now sullen grief,
Commands the reins of human life,
The wheels impetuous roll;
The harnest hours and minutes strive,
And days with stretching pinions drive—
—down fiercely on the goal.
VI
Not half so fast, the galley fliesO'er the Venetian sea,
When sails, and oars, and lab'ring skies
Contend to make her way.
Swift wings for all the flying hours
The God of time prepares,
The rest lie still yet in their nest
And grow for future years.
| The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. | |