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« Sense that shuns each conscious air,
« Wit that falls ere well aware ;
« Generous pity, prone to figh
« If her kid or lambkin die.

“ Let not lucre, let not pride
“ Draw thee from such charms afide ;
“ Have not those their proper sphere?
“ Gentler passions triumph here.

« See, to sweeten thy repose,
- The blossom buds, the fountain flows;
6 Lo! to crown thy healthful board,
* All that milk and fruits afford.

" Seek no more----the rest is vain :
“ Pleasure ending soon in pain :
“ Anguish lightly gilded o'er :
• Close thy wish, and seek no more.".




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Nerine Galatea ! thymo mihi dulcior Hybla!
Candidior cygnis, bederá formofor alba !

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“ Let fops with fickle falfhood range

The paths of wanton love,
Whilst weeping maids lament their change,

And sadden every grove :

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But endless bleffings crown the day,

I saw fair Esham's dale!
And every blessing find its way

To Nancy of the Vale.

'Twas from Avona's banks the maid

Diffus'd her lovely beams;
And every shining glance display'd

The Naïd of the streams.

Soft as the wild-duck's tender young;

That float on Avon's tide; Bright as the water-lily, sprung,

And glittering near it's fide.

Fresh as the bordering flowers, her bloom :

Her eye, all mild to view; The little halcyon's azure plume

Was never half so blue.

Her shape was like the reed so fleek,

So taper, ftrait, and fair ;
Her dimpled smile, her blushing cheek,

How charming fweet they were !

Far in the winding Vale retird,

This peerless bud I found ;
And shadowing rocks, and woods conspir'd

To fence her beauties round,



That Nature in so lone a de!1

Should form a Nymph so fweet! Or Fortune to her secret cell

Conduct my wandering feet!

Gay lordlings fought her for their bride,

But she would ne'er incline : “ Prove to your equals true, the cry'd,

As I will prove to mine.

“ 'Tis Strephon, on the mountain's brow,

“ Has won my right good will ; " To him I gave my plighted vow,

6. With him I'll climb the hill."

Struck with her charms and gentle truth,
I clasp'd the conftant fair

; To her alone I gave my youth,

And vow my future care.

And when this vow shall faithless prove,

Or I those charms forego;
The stream that faw our tender love,

That stream fhall cease to flow.



By the Same.


H! why for ever on the wing

Perfifts my weary'd soul to roam? Why, ever cheated, ftrives to bring

Or pleasure or contentment home?

Thus the poor bird, that draws his name

From paradife's honour'd groves, Ceaseless fatigues his little frame ; :

Nor finds the resting place he loves. : ? ? I

Lo! on the rural moffy bed

My limbs with careless.ease reclin'd;
Ah, gentle Slotb! indulgent spreads

The fame soft bandage o'er my mind.

For why should lingering thought invade,

Yet every worldly prospect cloy? Lend me, foft Sloth, thy friendly aid, And give me peace, debarr'd of joy.

B 2


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