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Bat chief in Europe, and in Europe's pride,

My Albion's favour'd realms, I rose ador’d; And pour'd my wealth, to other climes denyd,

From Amalthea's horn with plenty for'd. Ah me! for now a younger rival claims

My ravish'd honours, and to her belong My choral dances, and victorious games,

To her my garlands and triumphal fong. O say what yet untaited bounties now,

What purer joys await her gentler reign! Do lillies fairer, vi'lets sweeter blow?

And warbles Philomel a fofter strain?

Do morning suns in ruddier glory rise?

Does ev'ning fan her with serener gales?
Do clouds drop fatness from the wealthier skies,

Or wantons Plenty in her happier vales ?
Ah! no: the blunted beams of dawning light

Skirt the pale orient with ancertain day;
And Cynthia, riding on the car of night,

Thro'clouds embattled faintly wins her way. Pale, immature, the blighted verdure springs,

Nor mounting juices feed the swelling flow'r; Mute all the groves, nor Philomela sings

When Silence liftens at the midnight hour.


Nor wonder, man, that Nature's bashful face,

And op’ning charms her rude embraces fear: Is she not sprung of April's wayward race,

The fickly daughter of th' unripen'd year? With show'rs and sunshine in her fickle eyes,

With hollow smiles proclaiming treach'rous peace; With blushes, harb'ring in their thin disguise,

The blast that riots on the Spring's encrease. Is this the fair invested with my spoil

By Europe's laws, and Senates' stern command ? Ungen'rous Europe, let me fly thy foil,

And waft my treasures to a grateful land: Again revive on Afia's drooping shore

My Daphne's groves, or Lycia's ancient plain: Again to Afric's sultry fands restore

Embow'ring shades, and Lybian Ammon's fane: Or hafte to northern Zembla's savage coast,

There hush to filence elemental strife; Brood o'er the region of eternal Frost,

And swell her barren womb with heat and life. Then Britain here the ceas'd. Indignant grief,

And partings pangs her fault’ring tongue supprest : Veil'd in an amber cloud, she fought relief,

And tears, and filent anguish told the rest.


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E belles, and ye flirts, and ye pert little things,

Who trip in this frolickfome round,
Pray tell me from whence this indecency springs,

The sexes at once to confound :
What means the cock'd hat, and the masculine air,

With each motion design'd to perplex?
Bright eyes were intended to languish, not stare,
And softness the test of



The girl who on beauty depends for support,

May call ev'ry art to her aid :
The bosom display'd, and the petticoat short,

Are famples she gives of her trade.
But you, on whom Fortune indulgently smiles,

And whom Pride has preserv'd from the fnare;
Should sily attack us, with coyness and wiles,

Not with open and infolent air.

III. The

The Venus whose ftatue delights all mankind

Shrinks modestly back from the view,
And kindly shou'd seem by the artist design'd

To serve as a model for you.
Then learn with her beauties to copy her air,

Nor venture too much to reveal ;
Our fancies will paint what you cover with care,
And double each charm

you conceal.

The blushes of Morn, and the mildness of May,

Are charms which no art can procure ;
Oh! be but yourselves, and our homage we pay,

And your empire is solid and fure.
But if Amazon-like you attack your gallants,

And put us in fear of our lives,

well for fifters and aunts, But believe me you'll never be wives. osoofotod

oincioalook The BENEDICIT E Paraphrased.

By the Rev. Mr. MERRICK.
E works of God, on him alone,

In earth his footstool, heaven his throne,
Be all your praise bestow'd ;
Whose hand the beauteous fabrick made,
Whose eye the finish'd work survey'd,
And saw that all was good.


II. Ye angels, that with loud acclaim Admiring view'd the new-born frame,

And hail'd th' eternal King; Again proclaim your Maker's praise, Again your thankful voices raise, And touch the tuneful tring.

Praise him, ye bless’d ætherial plains,
Where, in full majesty, he deigns

To fix his aweful throne :
Ye waters, that above him roll,
From orb to orb, from pole to pole,
Oh! make his praises known!

Ye thrones, dominions, virtues, pow’rs,
Join ye your joyful fongs with ours,

With us your voices raise ; From age to age extend the lay, To heav'n's eternal Monarch pay Hymns of eternal praise.

V. Cæleftial orb!--whose pow'rful ray Opes the glad eyelids of the day,

Whose influence all things own ; Praise him, whose courts effulgent shine With light, as far excelling thine,

As thine the paler moon.

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