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 If ye give ear while I the tale rehearse, Perhaps ye'll find a moral in my verse.

In good old times—all olden times are good— Men with the gods in close relation stood. Then in its glory bloomed the Golden Age, When they, for once, made human creatures sage. Then ancient Saturn dwelt among mankind, Their manners softened, and their tastes refined; And happy mortals, sunk in blissful rest, Knew not the cares that now distract the breast. Perpetual youth bloomed on their manly brows, For Age was absent, with his countless woes. Through life they journeyed, blest with every joy, Death did but sink to slumber, not destroy. For them the Earth poured forth her bounteous store. And peaceful labor reigned from shore to shore. No selfish avarice cursed the generous soil, Each with his neighbor shared the sweets of toil. And when the grave closed o'er their honored clay, The scene but changed to one of endless day. Their happy shades still dwell upon the earth, To succor the distressed, to raise up worth. By heaven's high will it is their glorious trust To give deserving wealth, to shield the just. O'er every spot their guardian spirits brood; Such are the bright rewards of doing good.

Next came the Silver Age, an age betwixt The gold and brazen, but with neither mixt. They had their virtues, but in them we trace A class less moral than the golden race. I scarce believe, but 'tis averred that till