John Hoole

The toils of honour dignify repose.

To others never do
That which yourselves would wish undone to you.

My endeavour has been to render the sense of my author as nearly as possible, which could never be done merely by translating his words.

These friendly words awhile consoled the fair;
For grief imparted oft alleviates care.

The spotless maid is like the blooming rose
Which on its native stem unsullied grows;
Where fencing walls the garden-space surround,
Nor swains, nor browsing cattle tread the ground.
But if some hand the tender stalk invades,
Lost is its beauty, and its colour fades:
No more the care of heaven, or garden's boast,
And all its praise with youths and maidens lost.

Behold the state of man's unstable mind,
Still prone to change with every changing wind!
All our resolves are weak, but weakest prove
Where sprung from sense of disappointed love.

For while the treason I detest,
The traitor still I love.

When Fame, O monarch! good or evil tells,
Evil or good beyond the truth she swells.

'Tis often constancy to change the mind.

For oft the grace
Of costly vest improves a beauteous face.

Reflect, ye gentle dames, that much they know,
Who gain experience from another's woe.

Of all the sex this certain truth is known,
No woman yet was ever content with one.

When highest placed on giddy Fortune's wheel,
Unhappy man must soon expect to feel
A sad reverse, and in the changing round
With rapid whirl as sudden touch the ground.

Ah! why so rare does cruel Love inspire
Two tender bosoms with a mutual fire?
Say, whence, perfidious, dost thou pleasure find
To sow dissension in the human mind?

What has that wretched damsel left to boast,
What good on earth, whose virtuous praise is lost?