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III.

But Venus, fuffering not her favourite worm
For aye to fleepen in his filky tomb,
Inftructs him to throw off his pristine form,
And the gay features of a fly affume;

When, lo! eftfoons from the furrounding gloom, He vigorous breaks, forth ifsuing from the wound His horny beak had made, and finding room, On new-plum'd pinions flutters all around, And buzzing speaks his joy in moft expreffive found.

IV.

So may the God of Science and of Wit,
With pitying eye ken thee his darling fon;
Shake from thy fatty fides the flumberous fit,
In which, alas! thou art fo woe begon!
Or with his pointed arrows goad thee on ;
Till thou refeelest life in all thy veins ;
And, on the wings of Refolution,

Like thine own hero dight, fliest o'er the plains, Chaunting his peerless praise in never-dying strains.

CON

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