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Learned Friend of Ab-Church-Lane,

Who fet'ft our Entrails free,

Vain is thy Art, thy Powder's vain,

Since WORM s fhall eat ev'n Thee.

Thou only canft our Fates adjourn,
Some few fhort Years, no more;
Ev'n BUTTO N's Wits to WORMS fhall turn,
Who Maggots were before.

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WOMAN's AMBITION.

S Jove lay in Latona's Arms,

Drunk with the Nectar of her Charms,

Smiling, with Sense of Joy repaid,
Thus to the Beauteous Nymph he faid,
My God-head I would freely give,
Encircled in thefe Arms to live,
And gladly lofe immortal Chear,
To revel in fuch Pleasures here;
Renounce my Sun-fhine, and my Skies
For thofe, far brighter Orbs, thy Eyes;
Gladly would I my Pow'r refign;
Nor at my Lofs of Heav'n repine 3
A better Heav'n is in one Kifs,
And in thy Arms more folid Bliss.

She pleas'd, reply'd, Immortal Jove,
I ask not fuch a Proof of Love;
Wish not, what foon, you may repent,
For me, my Wish has this Extent;
Let but your Paffion never cease,

And may my Charms ftill more increase,
So in your Heav'n be my Abode,

And I be Miftrefs of a God.

TRAN

Tranflation of HORACE,
BOOK I. Ode 2.

EEK not to know, what fated End
The GODS for you or me intend,
Nor lend to Magick Arts an Ear,

But ftill against the worst prepare.
With Unconcern let Life glide on,
"Tis full of Toil, and quickly done.
See, Winter rages on the Sea,
And 'tis perhaps the laft you'll fee.
Be wife, enjoy the present Hour;
Brisk Wine from fmiling Goblets pour:
Improve the Moments whilft they last,
And fnatch the Hours that fly fo kast;
To Day, let Hope prevent Defpair.

To Morrow is not worth

your

Care.

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EPITAPH.

By Mr. POPE.

Near this Place lie the Bodies of JOHN HEWET and MARY DREW, an industrious young Man, and virtuous Maiden of this * Parish, who being at Harveft-Work (with feveral others) were in one Inftant kill'd by Lightning, the last Day of July, 1718.

Hink not by rig'rous Judgment feiz'd,

ΤΗ

A Pair fo faithful could expire;
Victims fo pure, Heav'n faw well pleas'd,

And fnatch'd them in Coeleftial Fire.

Live well, and fear no fudden Fate,

When GOD calls Virtue to the Grave,

Alike 'tis Juftice, foon or late,

Mercy alike, to kill or fave.

Virtue unmov'd, can bear the Call,
And face the Flash, that melts the Ball.

* Stanton-Harcourt, in Oxfordshire.

UPON

UPON A

Young LADY's

Being difappointed by a

Scotch LOR D.

I:

Oung Celadon has all the Charms
That can engage the Fair,

A Tongue that ev'ry Heart difarms,

A foft bewitching Air.

But fee what Fate attends a Drone!

He lofes what he takes;

And when the Fortrefs is his own,

His Victory forfakes.

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