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1058. AFTER AUTUMN, WINTER.

Die ere long, I'm sure, I shall;
After leaves, the tree must fall.


1059. A GOOD DEATH.

For truth I may this sentence tell,
No man dies ill, that liveth well.


1060. RECOMPENSE.

Who plants an olive, but to eat the oil?
Reward, we know, is the chief end of toil.


1061. ON FORTUNE.

This is my comfort when she's most unkind:
She can but spoil me of my means, not mind.


1062. TO SIR GEORGE PARRY, DOCTOR OF THE
CIVIL LAW.

I have my laurel chaplet on my head
If, 'mongst these many numbers to be read,
But one by you be hugg'd and cherished.
Peruse my measures thoroughly, and where
Your judgment finds a guilty poem, there
Be you a judge; but not a judge severe.