III. But Venus, fuffering not her favourite worm 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, ་ Like thine own hero dight, fliest o'er the plains, Chaunting his peerless praise in never-dying strains. CON |