But can't our state of pow'r bereave Then, if hard dealt with here by fate, And fign th' acquittance for the wrong. More happiness than misery, My crew of paffions all fubmit. If dark and bluft'ring prove fome nights, K Nor Nor wanting the difperfive bowl I make (may heav'n propitious fend An E PIGRAM. On the Reverend Mr. LAURENCE ECHARD's, and Bishop GILBERT BURNET's Hiftories. By the Same. IL's hiftory appears to me GI Political anatomy, A case of skeletons well done, And does with lucid fkill impart Their hands are fair, their faces fresh; And And from his sweet'ning art derive He wax-work made to please the fons, The feather'd play-thing the carefs'd, With chizzled bill a fpark ill fet He loofen'd from the rest, And fwallow'd down to grind his meat, The easier to digeft. IV. She feiz'd his bill with wild affright, Her diamond to descry : 'Twas gone! fhe ficken'd at the fight, Moaning her bird would die. The tongue-ty'd knocker none might use, The footmen went without their shoes, The street was laid with straw. VI. The doctor us'd his oily art Of ftrong emetick kind, The apothecary play'd his part, And engineer'd behind. VII. When phyfic ceas'd to spend its ftore To bring away the stone, Dicky, like people given o'er, Picks up, when let alone. VIII. His eyes difpell'd their fickly dews, IX. Mean |