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Some old verses.

Among the manuscripts preserved in the Society's rooms are some verses supposed to have been written nearly a century since by a Medford man, who was a schoolmaster. Well worth reading today, the Register presents them:— [p. 97]

On books.

Books, of all earthly things my chief delight,
My exercise by day, my dreams by night;
Dispassioned masters, Friends without deceit,
Who flatter not; companions ever sweet;
With whom I'm always cheerful, from whom rise
Improved and better, if not good and wise;
Grave faithful counsellors, who all excite,
Instruct and strengthen to behave aright;
Admonish us when Fortune makes her court
And when she's absent, solace and support.
Happy the man to whom ye are well known;
'Tis his own fault if ever he's alone.


Ah, fly, incautious Youth the flattering snare,
Which pleasure spreads to lure thee to her Gate;
In her soft Courts conceal'd pale Want and Care,
And dire Disease, and keen Remorse await;
These Fiends shall drive thee from her dazzling shrine,
And swift to Infamy's dread Cave consign.

Andrew Hall.

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