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. Twice twelve years smce when in my Infant State My Sighs were sure Prognosticks of my Fate: Sad was I then, and still remain the same Dragging 4 Life scarce worthy of that Name. All Day black Thoughts my clouded Mind pursue, Rendring all objets of their oron dark hue; The Sun no Comfort yields, and in the Night Vexatious Thoughts my restless Soul affrighe. Fain wou'd I drive these Tyrants from my Breast, And court, I fear in vain, the Stranger, Reft: By Books I seek to ease my troubled Mind, But there for Comfort new Vexation find: My Judgment's lost, my Intellect decays, Whilst Jullen Humour in their places fways ; Which like my self I hate, but if it quit My Breast, and draw awhile the Leaden Bitt, Such Frolicks straight polless the empty Throne As need no worse Reflections than my own ;

Thus by contending Winds my Soul is coft, By too much loosenes, too much ftraitne's loft : Horo then, Athenians, may I steer between These fatal Rocks, and keep ihe Golden Mean:

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ORACLE.
A. Unhappy Man! Who Freedom boasts in vain,
While every Passion makes him drag their Chain :
That Noble Freedom loft, which Nature gave,
His own as well as other Creatures, have.
A Flux of Blood, a Tide of Humours (way,
And Reason must her Rebel-Sense obey :
How her loft Empire shall the then regain ?
Resume her Rights, and break the inglorious Chain !
The God of Wisdom, and of Medicine joyn'd,
Rescues at once the Body and the Mind;
This with Sage Counsel purges o'er and o'er,
As that with powerful Herbs and Hellebore.

Q. Why do we Friendship praise, why rail at Love,
Since both alike our fure Tormentors prove?
Each Man has more of bad than good while bere,
Troubles we daily feel

, and daily fear,
And is it not enough our own to bear?
Why do we fondly then our Griets increase,
And for an empty Name exchange our Peace.

A. Too short is Man's own Fund to make him bleft?
He must go seek abroad for Peace and Reft :
Nor ought more like it self kind Heaven can lend,
Than tho Emanation of it self- A Friend.
By bim our Joy flows in, in fuller Tides,
And he who doubles that, our Grief divides. .
None then wou'd Friend/hip’s Heavenly Name disown,
But he that's curst so much he can have none.

Q. The Female Sex is not so much despis'd
By th’ Ignorant, as by the Learned priz'd:
Have you not in this fam'd Society,
A Womens Pen to bear yours Company ?

A. If one like yours, a great Fe-lici.ty!

Q. I am just entring on the Stage of Life,
For what is past, bas only Childhood been;
To act my part amongst the numerous Crowd;
How long, bow soort 'twill be, there's none can telli
How foort soe’er, I'd live to learn to die:
A Christian I profess my self, and fain
Wou'd live as such, and no disonour bring,
Unto my God, my Country, or my Friend:
I implore your Aid, and

kind Dire&tion how
I may avoid the various Smares the World

Thromes

Throws in the way of beedless giddy Youtb.
How all its Wealth and Pleasure I may learn
To trample on, and scorn its (sort liv'd Honours.
At bonians, belp

, against the Efforts of Vice,
Which with such ease unwary Youth entice,
While all our Resolutions prove too weak
To oppose sheir Charms, or frong Encbanements break
Ab, 'tis too much for us at once i' oppose
Clandestine Traytors, and our open Foes !
Nature we may expel, but 'tis in vain;
Tho fast driv'n back, it fast returns again:
And witb inteftine Force and foreign Aid,
Soon are our Hearts, or conquer'd, or betray'd.

A. Ah, What can Youths unfteddy Steps fecure?
Or who can say his Hands and Eyes are pure?
But yet 'tis posible the Prize to gain,
The glorious Prize, which far exceeds the Pain.
If you for Vertues shining Race intend,
For your assistance get a vertuous Friend.
Shun ill Occasions ! Quench the kindling Fire !
To nobler Pleasures, nobler Thoughts aspire !
Mind was not made for Earth, it soars above,
And good and true it knows, and knowing needs must love:
Nor will you cver from the Way depart,
If on the End you fix your Eyes and Heart,

TO

that perswades me to leave the Muses,

Orego the Charming Mules! No, in spite

Of your ill natur'd Prophecy I'll write;
And, for the future, paint my Thoughts at large,
I wafte no Paper at the Hundreds Charge;
I rob no Neighbouring Geese of Quills, nor link
For a Collection to the Church for Ink :
Besides my Muse is the most gentle thing
That ever yet made an Attempt to fing :
I call no Lady Punk, nor Gallants Fops,
Nor set the inarried world an edge for Ropes;
Yet I'm so scurvily inclin'd to Rhinjing,
That undesign'd my Thoughts burst out a chiming ::
My active Genius will by no means sleep,
And let it then its proper Chanel kecp.
I've told you, and you may believe me too,
That I must this, or greater Mischief do ;

And Muse may

And let the World think me inspir’d, or mad,
I'll surely write whilft Paper's to be bad;
Since Heaven to me has a Retreat align'd,
That would infpire a less barmonious Mind.
All that a Poet loves, I have in view,
Delightfome Hills, refreshing Shades, and pleasant Valleys too,
Fair spreading Valleys cloath'd with lafting Green
And Sunny Banks, with gilded Streams bermeen,
Gay as Elyfium, in a Lover's Dream,
Or Flora's Mansion, feated by a Stream,
Where free from sullen Carcs I live at ease,
Indulge my Muse, and Wishes, as I pleafe';
Exempt from all that looks like Want or Strife,
I smootbly glide along the Plains of Life.
Thus Fate conspires, and what can I do to't?
Besides, I'm veh’mently in Love to boot ;
And that there's not a Willow Sprig, but knows
In whose lad Shade I breathe my dircful Woes.
But why for these dull Reasons do I pause,
When I've at hand my genuine one, because !
And that
my

take no counter spell,
I fairly bid the Boarding Schools farewel :
No Young Impertinent shall here intrude,
And vex me from this blissful Solitude.
Spite of her Heart, Old Puss shalt damn no more
Great Sedley's Plays, and never look 'em o'er;
Affront my Novels, no, nor in a Rage
Force Dryden's lofty Products from the Stage,
Whilft all the rest of the melodious Crew,
With the whole System of Arbenians too,
For Study's sake out of the Window flow.
But I to Church shall fill her Train no more,
And walk as if I lojourn'd by the hour.

To Steptoel and his Kit I bid adicu,
Fall off and on, be hang'd and Coopee too
Thy self for me, my dancing Days are o'er;
I'll act th' inspired Bachanels no more.
Eight Notes must for another Treble look,
In Burlesque to make Faces by the Book.
Japan, and my esteemed Pencil too,
And pretty Cupid, in the Glass, adieu ;
And lince the dearest Friends that be muft part,
Old Governess, farewel with all my heart.
Now welcome all ye peaceful Shades and Springs,
And welcome all the inspiring tender things,
That please my Genius, suit my Make and Years,
Unburden'd yet with all but Lovers Cares.

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To

To Sir Thomas Travel.

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Rompted by that Great Genius that inspires

Your Noble Breast with those Heroick Fires;
I need implore no God, or Mufe, t'affift
My Thoughts, which now can rise what heighs they lift ;
For the same Spring that your bold Motions have,
Does make me love and celebrate tbe Brave.
And sure 'twere more than ftupid to refuse
To fuch Desert, the Tribute of my Muse:
To you, whose Breast doch circumscribe a Mind
As vast as e'er Humanity confind;
Which througb your Life such Glory does convey,
That scarce your Eyes more lucent Beams display ;
And all you do, and all you say, does bear
1 Godlike and inimitable Air.
Equipt for War, not Mars in Lemnian Arms,
Blushing and active, lookt so full of Charms;
And should he now assume Mortality,
He'd look, be'd move, and manage all like thee.
Whilst others charm'd with an inglorious Ease,
Forget the Royal Vi&tim of their Peace,
Thou, as excited by a Nobler Flame,
Pursu'st the deathless Glories of a Name;
And follow'ft, prompted by a Manlier Blood,
Bright Honour, wading through a Crimson Flood.

May all thy Actions meet their juft Success,
And to thy Arms let Charming Glory press;
My Muse the while fresh Garlands thall design,
Which round thy Brows the Queen of Love shall twine.

Occasion’d by the Report of the Queen's Death.

WHE

THEN Fame had blown among the Western Swains

The saddest News that ever reach'd their Plains,
Like Thunder in my Ears, the sound did break
The killing Accents which I dare not speak.
Less was I ioucht with that pernicious Dart,
That pierc'd through paine to reach my Daphne’s Heart,
From otf my Head

the florid Wreath I tore, That I, to please the fond Orejtes, wore; And, quite our charg'd with Grief

, upon the Ground Ilunk my Brows, with mournful Cypres crown'd;

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