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The fatal curiosity. By the same. From Drydens
Miscellaneous poems;" 1727

- 279 Retirement. An ode. By Thomas Warton the elder. From his Poems," 1745

281 An invocation to a water-nymph. By the fame. From the fame authority

283 An American love-ode. Taken from the second

volume of Montagne's Essays. By the same. From the fame authority

- 284 Damon. A paftoral.' By Alexander Pope, efq. From

bis Works,1751 (the notes being omitted) 285 To mrs. M. B. on her birth-day. By the same. From the same authority

- 290 Epistle to the same. On her leaving the town after

the coronation (1715]. By the same. From the same authority

• 291 Elegy. To the memory of an unfortunate young

lady. By the same. From the same authority 293 The first satire of the second book of Horace imi

tated. By the same. From the fame autbority

(the imitations and notes being omitted) 297 A prologue to a play for mr. Dennis's benefit, in

1733, when he was old, blind, and in great distress, a little before his death. By the same. From the fame authority (the notes being omitted) 304

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My lute, awake ; perform the last
Labour that thou and I shall wast,

And ende that I have now begunne ;
And when this song is fong and past,

My lute, be styll ; for I have done.

5

* Born 1503; dyed 1541. - To distinguish him from another of the name, he is usually called Sir Thomas Wyatt the elder.

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As to be heard where eare is none,
As leade to grave in marble stone,
My song

ay pearce her hart as soon ; Should we then figh, or sing, or mone?

No, no, my lute, for I have done.

10

The rocks do not so cruelly
Repulse the waves continually,
As she

my

suite and affection; So that I am past remedy,

Whereby my lute and I have done.

15

Proude of the spoyle that thou haft gotte
Of fimple hearts, through lovés shot,

By whome, unkind, thou hast them wonne; Think not he hath his bow forgott,

Although my lute and I have done.

20

Vengeance shall fall on thy disdaine,
That makest but game on earnest payne ;

Think not alone under the sunn
Unquit to cause thy lovers playne,

Although my lute and I have done.

25

May 'chance' thee lye withred and old,
In winter nights that are so cold,

Playning in vaine unto the moon;
Thy wishes then dare not be told,

Care then who lift, for I have doone.

3@

V. 26. chanced.

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