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Unless the world were all prepar'd t'embrace
A plan well worthy to supply their place ;
Yet, backward as they are, and long have been,
To cultivate and keep the MORALS clean,
(Forgive the crime) I wish them, I confess,
Or better manag’d, or encourag'd less..



D E A T 4



Ye nymphs ! if e'er your eyes were red
With tears o'er hapless fav’rites shed,

O share Maria's grief !
Her fav’rite, even in his cage,
(What will not hunger's cruel rage?)

Assassin'd by a thief.

Where Rhenus strays his vines among,
The egg was laid from which he sprung,

And though by nature mute,
Or only with a whistle blest,
Well-taught he all the sounds express’d

Of Aagelet or flute.

The honours of his ebon poll
Were brighter than the neeket mole,

His bosom of the hue
With which Aurora decks the skies,
When piping winds Thail soon arise

To sweep up all the dew.

Above, below, in all the house,
Dire foe, alike to bird and mouse,

No cat had leave to dwell;
And Bully's cage supported food,
On props of smoothest-shaven wood,

Large built and lattic'd well.

Well-lattic’d--but the grate, alas!
Not rough with wire of feel or brass,

For Bully's plumage sake,
But smooth with wands from Ouse's fide,
With which, when neatly peel'd and dried,

The swains their baskets make.

Night veil'd the pole. All feem'd fecure.
When led by inftin&t sharp and sure,

Subsistence to provide,
A beast forth-fallied on the scout,
Long-back'd, long-tail'd, with whisker'd snout,

And badger-colour'd hide.

He, ent’ring at the studydoor,
Its ample area 'gan explore;

And something in the wind
Conjectur'd, sniffing round and round,
Better than all the books he found,

Food, chiefly, for the mind.

Just then, by adverse fate impress’d,
A dream disturb’d poor Bully's rest;

In Neep he seem'd to view
A rat, fast-clinging to the cage,
And screaming at the sad presage,

Awoke and found it true.

For, aided both by ear and scent,
Right to his mark the monster went-

Ah, muse! forbear to speak
Minute the horrors that ensued ;
His teeth were strong, the cage was wood

He left poor Bully's beak.

He left it-but he should have ta’en That beak, whence ifsued many a strain

Of such melliAuous tone, Might have repaid him well, I wot, For silencing so sweet a throat,

Fast fet within his own.

Maria weeps The Muses mourn-
So, when by Bacchanalians torn,

On Thracian Hebrus' fide
The tree-enchanter Orpheus fell;
His head alone remain'd to tell
The cruel death he died,


The rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a shower,

Which Mary to Anna convey'd,
The plentiful moisture incumber'd the flower,

And weigh'd down its beautiful head.

The cup was all filld, and the leaves were all wet,

And it seem'd to a fanciful view,
To weep for the buds it had left with regret,

On the flourishing bush where it grew.
I haftily seiz'd it, unfit as it was,

For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd, And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas !

I snapp'd it, it fell to the ground.

And such, I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part

Some act by the delicate mind,
Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart

Already to forrow resign'd.

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This elegant rose, had I shaken it less,

Might have bloom'd with its owner a while, And the tear that is wip'd with a little address,

May be follow'd perhaps by a smile.

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