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"Are lives but worth a foldier's pay ?.
"But frenzy dares eternal fate,
"And, fpurr'd with honour's airy dreams, "Flies to attack th' infernal gate,
"And force a paffage to the flames."
Thus hovering o'er Namuria's plains,
Anon the thundering trumpet calls;
Burning feveral Poems of Ovid, Martial,
JUDGE the Mufe of lewd defire ;
Her fons to darkness, and her works to fire.
In vain the flatteries of their wit
Now with a melting strain, now with an heavenly flight,
Would tempt my virtue to approve
Those gaudy tinders of a lawless love.
So harlots dress: They can appear
Die, Flora, die in endless fhame,
Thou proftitute of blackest fame,
Ovid, and all ye wilder pens
Of modern luft, who gild our scenes,
Poison the British stage, and paint damnation gay,
Attend your mistress to the dead;
When Flora dies, her imps fhould wait upon her shade.
Strephon, * of noble blood and mind,
(For ever fhine his name!)
As death approach'd, his soul refin'd,
"Hell be the fate. (But O indulgent heaven!
"In endless currents rolling to the main,
"Can e'er dilute the poifon, or wash out the ftain."
*Earl of Rochester.
So Mofes by divine command
Forbid the leprous houfe to ftand
When deep the fatal spot was grown. "Break down the timber, and dig up the ftone.”
To Mrs. B. BENDIS H.
M ADAM, perfuade me tears are good
To wash our mortal cares away;
Thefe eyes fhall weep a fudden flood,
Or if these orbs are hard and dry,
Were both the golden Indies mine,
But tears, alas! are trifling things,
Thus weeping urges weeping on;
Then let thefe ufelefs ftreams be ftaid,
If 'tis a rugged path you go,
And thousand foes your fteps furround,
Tread the thorns down, charge through the foe:
Few HAPPY MATCHES.
AY, mighty Love, and teach my fong,
Whofe yielding hearts, and joining hands,
Not the wild herd of nymphs and fwains
If there be blifs without defign,
Not fordid fouls of earthy mould
Who drawn by kindred charms of gold
To dull embraces move:
So two rich mountains of Peru
May rush to wealthy marriage too,
Not the mad tribe that hell inspires
On Ætna's top let Furies wed,
Nor the dull pairs whose marble forms
With ofiers for their bands.
Not minds of melancholy strain,
As well may heavenly concerts spring
Nor can the foft enchantments hold