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SUPPLICATION FOR Miss CARTERET

IN THE SMALL-Pox.

DUBLIN, JULY 31, 17250

POW

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OWER o'er every power supreme,

Thou the poet's hallow'd theme,
From thy mercy-seat on high,
Hear my numbers, hear my cry.
Breather of all vital breath,
Arbiter of life and death,
Oh, preserve this innocence,
Yet unconscious of offence,
Yet in life and virtue growing,
Yet no debt to Nature owing.

Thou, who giv'st angelic grace
To the blooming virgin face,
Let the fell disease not blight
What thou mad'ft for man's delight:
O’er her features let it pass
Like the breeze o'er fpringing grass,
Gentle as refreshing showers
Sprinkled over opening flowers.

years alonę diminish Beauties thou walt pleas’d to finish.

To the pious parents give That the darling fair may live : Turn to blessings all their care, Save their fondness from despair.

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Miniature of beauty's queen,
Numbering years, a scanty Nine,
Stealing hearts without design,
Young inveigler, fond in wiles,
Prone to mirth, profuse in smiles,
Yet a novice in disdain,
Pleafure giving without pain,
Still careiling, still caress'cl,
Thou, and all thy lovers bless’d,
Never teiz'd, and never teizing,
0, for ever pleas'd and pleasing !
Hither, British Muse of mine,
Hither all the Grecian Nine,
With the bovely Graces three,
And your promis'd nurseling fee :

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Figure on

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waxen mind
Images of life refin'd;
Make it, as a garden gay,
Every bud of thought display,
Till, improving year by year,
The whole culture shall appear,
Voice, and speech, and action, rising,
All to human sense surprizing.

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Is the filken web so thin
As the texture of her skin ?
Can the lily and the rose
Such unsully'd hue disclose?
Are the violets so blue
As her veins expos'd to view ?
Do the stars, in wintery sky,
Twinkle brighter than her eye?

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Has the morning lark a throat
Sounding sweeter than her note?
Who e'er knew the like before thee?
They who knew the Nymph that bere thee.

From thy pastime and thy toys,
From thy harmless cares and joys,
Give me now a moment's time:
When thou shalt attain thy prime,
And thy bosom feel desire,
Love the likeness of thy fire,
One ordain'd, through life, to prove
Still thy glory, still thy love.

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Like thy Sister, and like thee,
Let thy nurtur’d daughters be:

Semblance

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Semblance of the fair who bore thee,
Trace the pattern set before thee.
Where the Liffy meets the main,
Has thy Sister hear'd my strain :
From the Liffy to the Thames,
- Minstrel echoes fing their names,
Wafting to the willing ear
Many a cadence sweet to hear,
Smooth as gently breathing gales
O’er the ocean and the vales,

While the vefel calmly glides
O'er the level glassy tides,
While the summer flowers are springing,
And the new-fiedg'd birds are finging.

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EPIGRAMS AND SHORT POEMS

ON A COMPANY OF BAD DANCERS TO GOOD MUSIC.

HOW

OWill the motion with the music fuits !
So Orpheus fiddled, and so danc'd the brutes,

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GEORGE came to the crown without ftriking a blow :

Ah, quoth the Pretender, would I could do so! In Answer to the QUESTION, What is THQUGHT?

HE hermit's folace in his cell,
Th

The fire that warms the poet's brain,
The lover's heiven, or his hell,
The madman's sport, the wife man's pain.
Bb

TO

TO MR. ADDISON ON CATO.

THE mind to virtue is by verfe fubdu'd,

And the true poet is a public good :
This Britain feels, while, by your lines inspir’d,
Her free-born sons to glorious thoughts are fir'd.
In Rome had you espous'd the vanquish'd cause,
Inflam'd her senate and upheld her laws,
Your manly scenes had liberty restor’d,
And given the just success to Cato's sword,
O'er Cæsar's arms your genius had prevailid,
And the liufe triumplid where the patriot fail'd.

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ON W IT AND WISDOM.

A F R A G M E N T,

I

N search of wisdom far from wit I fly :

Wit is a harlot beauteous to the eye,
In whose bewitching arms our early tinie
We waste, and vigour of our youthful prime :
But when reflection comes with riper years,
And manhood with a thoughtful brow appears,
We cait the mistress off to take a wife,
And, wed to wisdom, lead a happy life.

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The

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