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While the spread fan o'ershades your clofing eyes; -e housi

Then give one flirt, and all the vision flies. bohea, Thus vanish sceptres, coronets and balls,

And leave you in lone woods, or empty walls. pon,

So when your flave, at some, dear idle time, 4 at 100. (Not plagu'd with headachs, or the want of rhyme) Eire,

Stands in the streets, abstracted from the crew, cuse;

And while he seems to study, thinks of you:

Juft when his fancy points your fprightly eyes,
ay to bed Or sees the blush of Parthenissa rise,
ght to 8Gy pats my shoulder, and you vanith quite;
cafiri: Streets, chairs, and coxcombs, rush upon my fight;

Vext to be fill in town, I knit my brow,
Look sow'r, and hum a song—as you may now.

- NORCA m the sky

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TO THE

AUTHOR of a POEM,

EN TITUL E D,

SUCCESSIO.

B

Egone, ye critics, and restrain your spite;

Codrus writes on, and will for ever write;

The heaviest muse the swiftest course has gone, As clocks run fastest when moft lead is on. What tho' no bees around your cradle flew; Nor on your lips distilld their golden dew, Yet have we oft' discover'd in their stead A swarm of drones that buzz'd about

your

head. When you, like Orpheus, strike the warbling lyre, Attentive blocks stand round you, and admire.

Wit, pass'd thro' thee, no longer is the same,
As meat digested, takes a diff'rent name';
But fenfe must sure thy fafest plunder be,
Since no reprizals can be made on thee.
Thus thou may'st rise, and in thy daring flight
(Tho ne'er so weighty) reach a wond'rous height;
So, forc'd from engines, lead it self can fly,
And pondrous flugs move nimbly thro’the sky.
Sure Bavius copy'd Mavius to the full,
And Charilus taught Codrus to be dull;
Therefore, dear friend, at my advice give o'er,
This needless labour, and contend no more,
To prove a dull Succeffion to be true,
Since 'tis enough we find it so in you.

On

On a FAN of the Author's Design, in which was painted the Story of CEPHALUS and PROCRIS, with the Motto, Aura Veni.

C

YOME, gentle air! th' Æolian shepherd said,

While Procris panted in the secret shade;

Come, gentle air, the fairer Delia cries,
While at her feet her swain expiring lies.
Lo the glad gales o'er all her beauties stray,
Breathe on her lips, and in her bosom play!
In Delia's hand this toy is fatal found,
Nor could that fabled dart more surely wound:
Both gifts destructive to the givers prove;
Alike both lovers fall by those they love.
Yet guiltless too this bright destroyer lives,
At random wounds, nor knows the wound she gives,
She views the story with attentive eyes,
And pities Procris, while her lover dies.

ON

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SILENCE, In Imitation of the style of the late

E. of R.

S"

1.
llence! coeval with eternity;

Thou wert, e'er nature first began to be,
'Twas one vaft nothing, all, and all sleep faft
in thee.

II.

Thine was the sway, e'er heav'n was form’d, or

earth, E'er fruitful thought conceiv'd creation's birth, Or inidwife wordgave aid, and spoke the infant forth.

III. Then

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