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ON A FAN OF THE AUTHOR'S DESIGN. In which was painted the Story of Cephalus and
Procris, with the Motto, 'Aura veni.' 'COME, gentle air ! the Æolian shepherd said, While Procris panted in the secret shade; •Come, gentle air,' the fairer Delia cries, While at her feet her swain expiring lies. Lo, the glad gales o'er all her beauties stray, Breathe on her lips, and in her bosom play! In Delia's hand this toy is fatal found, Nor could that fatal dart more surely wound Both gifts destructive to the givers prove; Alike both lovers fall by those they love. Yet guiltless too the bright destroyer lives, At random wounds, nor knows the wound she gives She views the story with attentive eyes, And pities Procris, while her lover dies.
Here orange trees with blooms and pendants shine
While Celia's tears make sorrow bright,
Proud grief sits swelling in her eyes : The sun, next those the fairest light,
Thus from the ocean first did rise; And thus through mists we sce the sun, Which else we durst not gaze upon.
Inese silver drops, like morning dew,
Foretell the fervour of the day :
And blasting lightnings burst away.
The baby in that sunny sphere
So like a Phaeton appears,
Thought fit to drown him in her tears :
EARL OF ROCHESTER
SILENCE ! coeval with eternity, Thou wert, ere nature's self began to be; Twas onevast nothing, all, and all slept fast in tree. Thine was the sway, ere heav'n was formed, or
earth: Ere fruitful thought conceived creation's birth, r midwife word gave aid, and spoke the infant forth. The various elements against thee join'd
In one more various animal combined, And framed the clamorous race of busy human-kind.
The tongue moved gently first and speech was low,
Till wrangling science taught it noise and show, And wicked wit arose, thy most abusive foe.
But rebel wit deserts thee oft in vain;
Lost in the maze of words he turns again, And seeks a surer state, and courts thy gentle reign.
Afflicted sense thou kindly dost set free,
Oppress'd with argumental tyranny,
With thee in private modest dulness lies,
And in thy bosom lurks in thonght's disguise ; Thou varnisher of fools, and cheat of all the wise !
Yet thy indulgence is by both confess’d;
Folly by thee lies sleeping in the breast, And 'tis in thee at last that wisdom seeks for rest.
Silence, the knave's repute, the whore's good name,
The only honour of the wishing dame; Thy very want of tongue makes thee a kind of fame. But couldst thou seize some tongues that now aro
free, How church and state should be obliged to thee; At senate, and at bar, how welcome wouldst thou be!
Yet speech e'en there submissively withdraws,
From rights of subjects, and the poor man's causes Then pompous Silence reigns, and stills the noisy
laws. Past services of friends, good deeds of foes,
What favourites gain, and what the nation owes, Fly the forgetful world, and in thy arms repose.
The country wit, religion of the town,
The courtier's learning, policy of the gown, Are best by thee express'd; and shine in thee alona
The parson's cant, the lawyer's sophistry,
Lord's quibble, critic's jest, all end in thee, All rest in peace at last, and sleep eternally.
EARL OF DORSET
Reads Malbranche, Boyle, and Locke;
And wear a cleaner smock.
Are oddly join'd by fate :
That lies and stinks in state.
All white and black beside:
And masculine her stride.
So have I seen, in black and white,
All flutter, pride, and talk.
PHRYNE. PHRYNE had talents for mankind, Open she was, and unconfined,
Like some free port of trade;
Here first their entry made.
Spaniards or French came to her ;
'Twas' S'il vous plait, Monsieur.' Obscure by birth, renown'd by crimes, Still changing names, religion, climes,
At length she turns a bride :
And flutters in her pride.
Still vary shapes and dyes ;
Then painted butterflies.
DR. SWIFT. THE HAPPY LIFE OF A COUNTRY PARSON PARSON, these things in thy possessing, Are better than the bishop's blessing: