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Nor pointed spear, nor links of steel,

Could e'er those gallant minds subdue,
Who beauty's wounds with pleasure feel,

And boast the fetters wrought by jou.
S O N G IV. · The SKY-LARK,

O, tuneful bird, that glad'st the skies,

To Daphne's window speed thy way; And there on quivering pinions rise,

And there thy vocal art display. And if she deign thy riotes to hear,

And if she praise thy matin song, Tell her the sounds that foothe her ear,

To Damon's native plains belong. Tell her, in livelier plumes array’d, The bird from Indian groves may

shine ei But ask the lovely partial maid,

What are his notes compar'd to thine ?
Then bid her treat yon witless beau,

And all his flaunting race with scorn ;
And lend an ear to Damon's woe,
Who fings her praise, and fings forlorn.

S O N G V.
Ah! ego non aliter triffes evincere morbos

Optarim, quam te fic quoque velle putem.

ON every tree; in every plain,

I trace the jovial spring in vain!
A fickly languor veils mine eyes,
And fast my waning vigor flies.

Nor

Nor Aow'ry plain, nor budding tree,
That smile on others, smile on me ;
Mine eyes

from death shall court repose,
Nor shed a tear before they close.
What bliss to me can seasons bring ?
Or what, the needless pride of spring?
The cypress bough, that suits the bier,
Retains its verdure all the year,
'Tis true, my vine so fresh and fair,
Might claim awhile my wonted care;
My rural store some pleasure yield;
So white a flock, so green a field !
My friends, that each in kindness vie,
Might well expect one parting figh;
Might well demand one tender ţear ;
For when was Damon unfincere ?
But ere I ask once more to view
Yon setting sun his race renew,
Inform me, fwains; my friends, declare,
Will pitying Delia join the prayer ?
SONG VI. The Attribute of Venus.

YES; Fulvia is like Venus fair ;

Has all her bloom, and shape and air :
But ftill, to perfect every grace,
She wants- the smile upon her face.
The crown majestic Juno wore;
And Cynthia's brow the crescent bore,
An helmet mark'd Minerva's mien,
But smiles distinguish'd Beauty's queen.

Her

Her train was form'd of smiles of loves
Her chariot drawn by gentleft doves;
And from her zone, the nymph may find,
'Tis Beauty's province to be kind.
Then fmile, my fair; and all whose aim
Aspires to paint the Cyprian dame,
Or bid her breathe in living stone,
Shall take their forms from

you

alone.

The Rape of the TRAP, a BALLAD; written

at College, 1736. By the Same.

WAS in a land of learning,
'T"
The Muse's

favourite station,
Such pranks, of late,
Were play'd by a rat,
As

gave them consternation!

All in a college-study,

Where books were in great plenty,
This rat would devour:
More fenfe, in an hour,

Than I could write in twenty.

His breakfast, half the morning,

He constantly attended;
And, when the bell

rung
For evening-fong,

His dinner scarce was ended.

Hug

Huge tomes of geo-graphy,

And maps lay all in flutter;
A river or a sea
Was to him a dish of tea,

And a kingdom-bread and butter.

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A trap in haste and anger,

Was bought, you need not doubt on't;
And such was the gin,
Were a lion once in,

He could not, I think, get out on't.

With cheese, not books, 'twas baited ;

The fact, I'll not bely it; Since none, I tell ye

that, Whether scholar or rat,

Minds books, when he has other diet.

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