THE BOWLING GREEN

When next you lift my verse, dear colyumist,
From sweet obscurity to fame that's sweeter,
Pray quote me from the book, and never twist
My " otherwise " to " else " and spoil the metre!

Learn how to hope, to wait the proper tide —
As on the coast a bark — then part without a care;
He who knows how to wait wins victory for bride;
For life is long and art a plaything there.
But should your life prove short
And never come a tide,
Wait still, unsailing, hope is on your side
Art may be long or, else, of no import.

I cannot write the old jokes,
The cranks and wanton wiles,
Because I can't remember 'em,
And I haven't got the files.

I'm Captain Hans of the submarines,
I feed the sea with human be'n's;
I do not care about the means —
I'm in the German navy!

I with fine words wear all my life away,
And lose good purpose with the things I say;
Guide me, kind silent woman, that I give
One deed for twice ten thousand words, and so I live.

Epigram

Laying aside his Bow and Torch, a Whip
Severe Love took, and at his side a Scrip;
Then on the patient Oxen doth impose
A Yoak, and in the fertile Furrow sows:
And looking up, good weather Jove , or Thou
(Saith he) Europa's Bull shalt draw my plow.

Poor simple moth! thou art to blame
To play so much about the flame.
Alas, thy wings are yet but tender
And thou may'st soon again surrender,
Experience sure shou'd make thee wiser
So pray believe thy kind adviser!

How dang'rous is wit, when the choice is unfit!
Tho' it shines in your verse Mr. P INDAR ,
Will a wise man admire, the sparks of that fire
Which burns up his house to a cinder?

Vesper , belov'd Cythera's golden light;
Vesper , the sacred joy of Azure Night;
Thou other Stars out-shin'st, as Cynthia Thee;
Hail dearly welcome! come along with me,
And with thy light our past'ral sports befriend;
The Moon scarce up went down; I not intend
To rob; no Travellours shall of me complain;
I love and lovers should be lov'd again.

Horses plainly are descry'd
By the Mark upon their side:
Parthians are distinguished
By the Miters on their Head:
But from all Men else a Lover
I can easily discover,
For upon his easie Breast
Love his Brand-Mark hath imprest.