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While ev'ry Soul upon his Motions hung,
As tho’ it were in tuneful Concert strung.
His Touch did ftrike the Fibres of the Heart,
And a like Trembling secretly impart;
Where various Passions did by Turns succeed,
He made it chearful, and he made it bleed;
Could wind it up into a glowing Fire,
Then shift the Scene, and teach it to expire,

Oft have I seen him on a Publick Stage, Atone the gaping Multitude engage; The Eyes and Ears of each Spectator draw, Command their Thoughts, and give their Paffions Law; While other Musick in Oblivion drown'd, Seem'd a dead Pulse, or a neglected Sound.

Alas! he's gone, our Great Apollo's dead,
And all that's sweet and tuneful with him fed.
HIBERNIA on with one universal Cry,
Laments its Loss, and speaks his E LEGY.
Farewel, thou Author of refind Delight,
Too little known, too soon remov'd from Sight;
Those Fingers, which such Pleasure did convey,
Must now become to kupid Worms a P'R EY:
Thy grateful FIDDLE will for ever stand
A silent Mourner for its MASTER's Hand:
Thy Art is only to be match'd Above,
Where Musick reigns, and in that Musick Love:

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Where Thou wilt with the happy CHORUS join,
And quickly Thy melodious Soul refine
To the exalted PITCH of Harmony Divine.

Mr. PRIOR's EPITAPH on Himself.

Nobles

obles and Heraalds, by your Leave,

Here lye the Bones of MATTHEW PRIOR, A Son of Adam and of Eve;

Let BOURBON or NASSAU go higher.

Thus Answer d.

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OLD MATTHEW PRIOR, by your Leave,

Your Epitaph is somewhat Odd; Bourbon and You were Sons of Eve,

NASS AU's the Off-spring of a GOD.

The

The SONG of TROILU S.

From Chaucer.

I

F no Love is Ye Gods what feel I fo?

And if Love is -what Thing, and which is He? If Love be Good, from whence proceeds my Woe?

If it be ill, how can that Ill agree?
His bitter Potion I the fweetest think,
And ever thirst the more, the more I drink.

If willingly I bear the burning Charm,

Whence are my Wailings, and my deep Complaint ? If Harm is pleasing, why do I grieve the Harm?

Why with the Load unweary'd, am I faint ? Sweet Harm, how holds my Heart of thee so much, But that my Heart consents it should be such?

And if my Heart consent, and I agree,

The Folly of Complaint fair Wisdom binds; Thus like a Boat all steerless in the Sea,

My Heart is tofs'd betwixt two jarring Winds. Alas! what wond'rous Woe poor Lovers try? For Heat of Cold, for Cold of Heat I dye.

Ο Ν

Ο Ν

B E A U Τ Υ.

By Mrs. SINGER.

{@orious BEAUTY by what potent Charm

Dost thou the Soul of all its Force difarm?
We bless thy Chains, abhor our Liberty,-

And quit the uncontefted Field to thee.
Whether we rash or calm Designs pursue,
Thine is the soft Temptation fill in View ;
For thee we search the wide Creation
But thou art no where in Perfo
Some Blemish fill remai:
And crowding Years

triumphar

Triumphant BE AU TY fits in Flavia's Eyes,
But while we gaze, the trembling Luftre dies;
Thyrfis compleatly form’d with ev'ry Grace,
A faultless Shape, and an enchanting Face,
In all his Motions each becoming Air,
Greatness, and native Elegance appear,
Careless and free, in Life's deluding Bloom,
But envious DEATH threatens a hafty Doom;
Some gentle Mistress full of Love and Truth,
Shall foon lament the dear unrival'd Youth.
“ Thou lovely, flatt'ring, transitory Thing,
“ From what immense Perfection dost thou spring?
To what complete Original return,
While we thy vain Appearance only mourn?
Howe're our doating. Thoughts mistake the Way,
To certain Bliss, thine is a friendly Ray,
That points the Passage to unblemishod Day.
Ye heav'nly Forms in all your Pride appear,
And shew us what immortal B E AUTIE S are,
What Life, what rofy Bloom your Faces wear!
Put on each smiling Grase, and conq’ring Charm,
And all the Force of mortal Love difarm;
For ftill our restless Thoughtş take glorious Aims,
Howe're feduc'd by these inferior Flames,
The leading Passion, the fupreme Desire,
To things Divine and Infinite aspire.

Eternat

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