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FLATTERING hopes the mind deceiving

Easy faith too often cheat, Woman, fond and all believing

Loves and hugs the dear deceit.

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Noisy shew of pomp and riches,

Cupid's trick to catch the fair, Lowly maids too oft bewitches,

Flattery is the beauty's snare.


WHAT's all the pomp of gaudy courts,

But vain delights and jingling toys, While pleasure crowns your rural sports

With calm content, and tranquil joys.

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RETURN, fweet lafs, to flacks and twains, Y H'N
Where simple Nature midly reigns; ri ziswe 1101 364
Where Love is every shepherd's care, ilu 11odel 93912

And every nymph is kind as fair. 1vubHuyu Yui'!

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The court has only tinsel toys,"* "vy 9t' yng 99.9H
Infipid mirth and idle noise ;

polis em Na ir But rural joys are ever new,

u Pragu zor.} b'A While nymphs are kind, and shepherds true.' ** B'w


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AGAIN in rustic weeds array'd,
A simple swain, a fimple maid,
O'er rural scenes with joy we'll rove,
By dimpling brook, or cooling grove.

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The birds shall strain their little throats,
And warble wild their merry notes ;
Whilst we converse beneath the shade,
A happy swain, and happy maid.

Thy hands shall pluck, to grace my bow's,
The luscious fruit, the fragrant flow'r,
Whilst joys shall bless, for ever new,
Thy PHOEBE kind, my COLIN true.

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WHY should I now, my love, complain,
That toil awaits thy chearful swain,
Since labour oft a sweet bestows
Which lazy splendour never knows?

Hence springs the purple tide of health,
The rich man's wish, the poor man's wealth,
And spreads those blushes o'er the face,
Which come and go with native grace.

The pride of dress, the pomp of shew,
Are trappings oft to cover woe ;
But we, whose wishes never roam,
Shall taste of real joys at home.


NO doubt but your fool's-cap has known

His highness obligingly kind,
-Odzooks I could knock the fool down,

Was e'er such a cuckoldy hind ?

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bed ;

To be fare, like a good-natur'd fpoufe,
You've lent him a part of

He has fitted the horns to your brows,

And I see them sprout out of your head.


To keep your wife virtuous and chaste

The court is a wonderful school, - My Lord you've an excellent taste.

- And, son, you're a cuckoldy fool.

If your lady should bring you an heir,

The blood will flow rich in his veins, Many thanks to my Lord for his care

You dog, I could knock out your brains. To

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