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By Mr. Dryden.

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Should Hag and Gray-Beard make fuch tender 2

moan, Faith you'd e'en truft 'em to chemselves alone, ( And cry let's go, here's nothing to be done. Since Love's our Business, as 'tis your Delight, The Loung, who best can practise, beft can write. What though he be not come to his full Pow's, He's mending and improving every hour. You fly She-Jockies of the Box and Fit, Are pleas'd to find a hot unbroken Wit, By management he may in time be made, But there's no hopes of an old batter'd Jade ; Faint and unnery'd he runs into a Sweat, And always fails you at the Second Heat.

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Spoken to Her ROYAL HIGHNESS, On Her Return from Scotland,

In the Year 1682.
Written by Mr. OTWAY.

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From whom our present Peace we expect increas'd,
And all our future Generations bleft:
Time have a Care: bring safe the hour of Joy,
When some bleft Tongue proclaims a Royal Boy
And when 'tis born, let Nature's hand be strong ;
Bless him with days of strength and make 'em long :
Till charg'd with honours we behold him ftand,
Three Kingdoms Banners waiting his Command,
His Father's Conquering Sword within his Hand :-
Then thEnglish Lions in the Air advance,
And with them roaring Musick to the Dance,
Carry a Quo Warranto into France.

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