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Shalt in a Dunghill, or a Sty,
'Midst Filth and Vermin rot and die.





EHIND an unfrequented Glade,

Where Yew and Myrtle mix their Shade, A Widow Turtle penfive fat, And wept her murder'd Lover's Fate. The Sparrow chanc'd that Way to walk, (A Bird that loves to chirp and talk) Be sure he did the Turtle greet, She answer'd him as she thought meet, Sparrows and Turtles, by-the-bye, Can think, as well as You or I: But how they did their Thoughts express, The Margin shows by T. and S.

T. My Hopes are lost, my Joys are fled, Alas! I weep Columbo dead : Come, all ye winged Lovers, come, Drop Pinks and Daisies on his Tomb. Sing, Philomel, his Fun'ral Verse, Ye pious Redbreasts, deck his Hearse. Fair Swans extend your dying Throats, Columbo's Death requires your Notes:

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For Him, my Friend, for Him I moan,
My dear Columbo, dead and gone.

Stretch'd on the Bier, Columbo lies,
Pale are his Cheeks, and clos'd his Eyes:
Those Cheeks, where Beauty smiling lay ;
Those Eyes, where Love was us’d to play:
Ah! cruel Fate, alas! how soon
That Beauty and those Joys are flown!

Columbo is no more, ye Floods,
Bear the fad Sound to difrant Woods :
The Sound let Echo's Voice restore,
And say, Columbo is no more:
Ye Floods, ye Woods, ye Echoes, moan
My dear Columbo, dead and gone.

The Dryads all forsook the Wood,
And mournful Naiads round me stood;
The tripping Fawns and Fairies came,
All conscious of our mutual Flame;
To figh for him, with me to moan,
My dear Columbo, dead and gone.

Venus disdain'd not to appear
To lend my Grief a friendly Ear;
But what avails her Kindness now?
She ne'er shall hear my second Vow.
The Loves that round their Mother Alew,
Did in her Face her Sorrows view.
Their drooping Wings they pensive hung,
Their Arrows broke, their Bows unstrung ;
They heard attentive what I said,
And wept with me, Columbo dead;

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For him I sigh, for him I mean,
My dear Columbo, dead and gone.

'Tis our's to weep, great Venus said,
'Tis Fove's alone to be obey'd :
Nor Birds, nor Goddesses can move
The just Behests of fatal Jove :
I saw thy Mate, with fad Regret,
And curs'd the Fowler's cruel Net.
Ah! dear Columbo, how he fell,
Whom Turturella lov'd so well !
I saw him bleeding on the Ground,
The Sight tore up my ancient Wound ;
And whilst you wept, alas ! I cry'd,
Columbo and Adonis dy'd.

Weep, all ye Streams, ye Mountains, groan ;
I mourn Columbo, dead and gone :
Still let my tender Grief complain,
Nor Day, nor Night, that Grief restrain.
I said, and Venus still reply'd,
Columbo and Adonis dy'd.

S. Puor Turturella, hard thy Case,
And just thy Tears, alas ! alas !
T. And haft thou lov'd, and can't thou

With piteous Heart, a Lover's Care ?
Come then, with me thy Sorrows join,
And ease my Woes by telling thine :
For thou, poor Bird, perhaps may'st moan
Some Passerella, dead and gone.


S. Dame Turtle, this runs soft in Rhime,
But neither suits the Place nor Time;
The Fowler's Hand, whose cruel Care
For dear Columbo set the Snare;
The Snare again for thee may set,
Two Birds may perish in one Net.
Thou shou’d'it avoid this cruel Field,
And Sorrow shou'd to Prudence yield.
'Tis sad to die. T. It may be fo;
'Tis fadder yet to live in Woe.

S. When Widows use their canting Strain,
They seem resolv'd to wed again.
T. When Wid'wers wou'd this Truth dif-

They never tasted real Love.

S. Love is soft Joy and gentle Strife,
His Efforts all depend on Life:
When he has thrown two golden Darts,
And struck the Lovers mutual Hearts,
Of his black Shafts let Death fend one,
Alas! the pleasing Game is done;
Ill is the poor Survivor sped,
A Corps feels mighty cold in Bed.
Venus said right, nor Tears, can move,
Nor Plaints revoke the Will of Jovea

All must obey the gen'ral Doom,
Down from Alcides to Tom Thumb.
Grim Pluto will not be withstood,
By Force or Crast. Tall Robinhood,




As well as Little John, is dead.
(You see how deeply I am read)
With Fate's lean Tipstaff none can dodge,
He'll find you out where'er you lodge.
Ajax, to fhun his gen'ral Pow'r,
In vain absconded in a Flow'r.
An idle Scene Tythonus acted,
When to a Grasshopper contracted.
Death struck them in those Shapes again,
As once he did when they were Men.
For Reptiles perish, Plants decay,
Flesh is but Grass, Grass turns to Hay,
And Hay to Dung, and Dung to Clay.

Thus Heads extremely nice discover,
That Folks may die, some ten Times over ;
But oft by too refin'd a Touch,
To prove Things plain, they prove too much.
Whate’er Pythagoras may say,
(For each, you know, will have his Way)
With great Submission I pronounce,
That People die no more than once :
But once is sure, and Death is common
To Bird and Man, including Woman.
From the Spread Eagle to the Wren,
Alas! no mortal Fowl knows when :
All that wear Feathers, first or last,
Must one Day perch on Charon's Mast;
Must lie beneath the Cypress Shade,
Where Strada’s Nightingale was laid.

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