III. But Venus, fuffering not her favourite worm When, lo eftfoons from the furrounding gloom, So may the God of Science and of Wit, Like thine own hero dight, fliest o'er the plains, Chaunting his peerless praise in never-dying strains. CON |
III. But Venus, fuffering not her favourite worm When, lo eftfoons from the furrounding gloom, So may the God of Science and of Wit, Like thine own hero dight, fliest o'er the plains, Chaunting his peerless praise in never-dying strains. CON |