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While the rat is on the scout,
Though in voice and shape they be
Neither night nor dawn of day,
IN painted plumes fuperbly drest,
By many a billow-tofts
A present to his toast.
Belinda's maids are foon preferr'd
As Poll can master it ;
And make him quite a wit..
Sweet Poll ! his doating mistress cries >
And calls aloud for fack,
And now a hearty smack.
IV. Ar IV.
At first he aims at what he hears
Juit catches at the found;
And stuns the neighbours round.
A querulous old woman's voice
He scolds and gives the lie;.
Poor Poll is like to die..
Belinda and her bird ! 'tis rare
The language and the tone,
And both in unison..
When children. first begin to spell?
We think them tedious creatures ;
And women are the teachers.
TH & S HRUB B E R ¥.
Written in a Time of Affliction..
OH happy shades ! to me unbleft;
Friendly to peace, but not to me, How ill the scene that offers rest,
And heart that cannot rest, agree !!
This glassy stream, that spreading pine,
Those alders quiv'ring to the breeze, Might footh a soul less hurt than mine,,
And please, if any thing could please..
III. But III.
But fixt unalterable care
Foregoes not what she feels within, Shows the same sadness ev'ry where,
And Nights the season and the scene.
For all that pleas'd in wood or lawn,
While peace possess’d these filent bow'rs., Her animating smile withdrawn,
Has lost its beauties and its pow'rs.
The faint or moralift fhould tread
This moss-grown alley, musing fow, They seek like me the secret fhade,
But not like me, to nourish woea.
Me fruitful scenes and prospe&s waste,
Alike admonish not to roam, These tell me of enjoyments past,
And those of sorrows yet to come..