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And may you

May you enjoy, my Lord, through the whole course of this and many more years, that sound health of mind and body, which your important labours for the publick so much want, and so juftly merit! foon have the satisfaction to see, what I know you so ardently with, this destructive war, however necessary on our part, concluded by a safe and lasting peace! Then, and not till then, all the noble arts, no less useful than ornamental to human life, and that now languish, may again flourish, under the

eye couragement of those few, who think and feel as you do, for the advantage and honour of Great Britain, I

with the fincerelt attachment,

and en



Your most faithful

humble servant.


I. 'T WAS at the filent, folemn hour,

When night and morning meet;; In glided Margaret's grimly ghost,

And stood at William's feet.

Her face was like an April-morn,

Clad in a wintery cloud ;
And clay-cold was her lily-hand,
That held her fable shroud.

So shall the fairest face

When youth and years are flown :
Such is the robe that kings must wear,
When death has reft their crown.

Her bloom was like the springing flower,

That fips the filver dew;
The rose was budded in her cheek,
Just opening to the view.

But Love had, like the canker-worm,

Consum'd her early prime :
The rose grew pale, and left her cheek;
She dy'd before her time.

VI. Awake!

Awake! fhe cry'd, thy true love calls,

Come from her midnight-grave;
Now let thy pity hear the maid,
Thy love refus'd to fave.

This is the dumb and dreary hour,

When injur'd ghosts complain ;
When yawning graves give up their dead,
To haunt the faithless swain.

Bethink thee, William, of thy fault,

Thy pledge and broken oath ;
And give me back my maiden-vow,

And give me back my troth.



Why did you promise love to me,

And not that promise keep?
Why did you swear my eyes were bright,
Yet leave those eyes. weep ?

How could you say my face was fair,

And yet that face forsake ?
How could you win my virgin-heart,
Yet leave that heart to break ?

Why did you say, my lip was sweet,

And made the scarlet pale ?
And why did I, young witless maid }
Believe the flattering tale?

XII. That XII,

That face, alas! no more is air

Those lips no longer red :
Dark are my eyes, now clos’d in death,

And every charm is filed.

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The hungry worm my sister is ;

This winding-theet I wear :
And cold and weary lasts our night,

Till that last mori appear.


But, hark! the cock has warn'd me hence ;

A long and late adieu!
Come, see, false man, how low she lies,

Who dy'd for love of you.

The lark fung loud; the morning smild,

With beams of rosy red:
Pale William quak'd in every limb,

And raving left his bed.


He hy'd him to the fatal place

Where Margaret's body lay ;
And stretch'd him on the green-grafs turf,

That wrap'd her breathless clay,


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