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By the Same.
F aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song,
May hope, chafte Eve to footh thy modeft ear,

Like thy own folemn springs,

Thy springs, and dying gales, O Nymph reserv'd, while now the bright-hair'd fun Sits on yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts

With brede etherial wove,

O’erhang his wavy bed :
Now air is hush'd, fave where the weak-ey'd bat,
With short shrill shrieks flits by on leathern wing,

Or where the beetle winds

His small but sullen horn,
As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path,
Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum.

Now teach me, maid compos’d,

To breathe fome soften'd strain, Whose numbers stealing through thy dark’ning vale, May not unseemly with its stillness suit,

As musing flow, I hail

Thy genial lov'd return !
For when thy folding star arising shews
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp

The fragrant Hours, and Elves
Who flept in fow'rs the day,


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And many a Nymph who wreaths her brows with fedge,
And sheds the fresh’ning dew, and lovelier still,

The Pensive Pleasures sweet

Prepare thy shadowy car.
Then lead, calm Votress, where some sheety lake
Cheers the lone heath, or some time-hallow'd pile,

Or up-land fallows grey

Reflect its last cool gleam.
But when chill bluft'ring winds, or driving rain,
Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut,

That from the mountain's side,

Views wilds, and swelling floods,
And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires,
And hears their fimple bell, and marks o'er all

Thy dewy fingers draw

The gradual dusky veil.
While Spring shall pour his show'rs, as oft he wont,
And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve!

While Summer loves to sport

Beneath thy ling'ring light ;
While fallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves ;
Or Winter yelling through the troublous air,

Affrights thy fhrinking train,

And rudely rends thy robes ;
So long, fure-found beneath the Sylvan fhed,
Shall FANCY,FRIENDSHIP,Science, rose-lip'd Health,

Thy gentlest influence own,
And hymn thy fav’rite name !

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VERSES written on a BLANK LEAF,

By Lord LANSDOWN, when he presented his Works

to the Queen, 1732.

A Musę expiring, who with earlieft voice,

Made kings andqueens and beauty's charmsher choice, Now on her death bed, the last homage pays, O Queen, to thee; accept her dying lays. So at th' approach of death the cygnet tries To warble one note more, and singing dies. Hail mighty Queen, whose powerful smiles alone Command obedience and secure the throne. Contending parties, and Plebeian rage, Had puzzled Loyalty for half an age: Conqu’ring our hearts you end the long dispute ; All who have eyes confess you absolute; To Tory doctrines even Whigs resign, And in your person own the right divine. Thus sung the Muse, in her last moments fir'd

ford With CAROLINA's praise, and then expir'd,

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ADVICE to a Lady in AUTUMN.


SSES milk, half a pint, take at seven, or before ;

Then sleep for an hour or two, and no more. At nine stretch your arms, and oh! think when alone, There's no pleasure in bed. --Mary,bring me my gown: Slip on that ere you rise ; let your caution be such ; Keep all cold from your breast, there's already too much; Your pinners set right, your twitcher tyd on, Your prayers at an end, and your breakfast quite done; Retire to fome author, improving and gay, And with senfe like your own, set your mind for the day, At twelve you may walk, for at this time o' the year, The sun like your wit, is as mild, as 'tis clear : But mark in the meadows the ruin of Time; Take the hint, and let life be improv'd in its prime. Return not in hafte, nor of dressing take heed ; For beauty, like yours, no assistance can need. With an appetite, thus, down to dinner you fit, Where the chief of the feast is the flow of your wit : Let this be indulg'd, and let laughter go round; As it pleases your mind, to your health 'twill redound, After dinner two glasses at least, I approve ; Name the firft to the king, and the last to your love:


Thus cheerful with wisdom, with innocence gay,
And calm with your joys gently glide thro' the day,
The dews of the evening most carefully shun;
Those tears of the sky for the loss of the sun.
Then in chat, or at play, with a dance, or a song,
Let the night, like the day, pass with pleasure along.
All cares, but of love, banish far from your mind;
And those you may end, when you please to be kind,

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HE gushing streams impetuous flow,

In haste to Delia's lips to go,
With equal haste and equal heat,
Who would not rush those lips to meet ?
Bless’d envy'd streams, still greater bliss
Attends your warm and liquid kiss.
For from her lips your welcome tide
Shall down her heaving bosom glide;
There fill each swelling globe of love,
And touch that heart I ne'er could move.
From hence in soft meanders stray,
And find at last the blissful way
Which thought may paint, tho' verse mayn't fay.



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