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But when life's busier scene is o'er,
And Age shall give the tresses hoar,
I'd fly soft Luxury's marble dome,
And make an humble thatch my home,
Which sloaping hills around enclose,
Where many a beech and brown oak grows ;
Beneath whofe dark and branching bow'rs
It's tides a far-fam'd rivers pours :
By nature's beauties taught to please,
Sweet Tusculane of rural ease!

grott of Peace! in lowly shed
Who loves to rest her gentle head.
For not the scenes of Attic art
Can comfort care, or footh the heart :
Nor burning cheek, nor wakeful eye,
For gold, and Tyrian purple fly.

Thither, kind heav'n, in pity lent,
Send me a little, and content ;
The faithful friend, and chearful night,
The social scene of dear delight :
The conscience pure,

the temper gay,
The musing eve, and idle day.
Give me beneath cool shades to sit,
Rapt with the charms of classic wit :
To catch the bold heroic flame
That built immortal Græcia’s fame.
Nor let me fail, meantime, to raise
The facred song to Britain's praise :

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To fpurn the shepherd's simple reeds
And paint heroic ancient deeds ,
Record old Arthur's magic tale,
And edwARD, fierce in sable mail.
Sing royal BRUTUS' lawless doom,
And brave BONDUCA, fcourge of Rome ;
Great PENDRAGON's fair-branched line,
Stern ARVIRAGE, and old LOCRINE.

O ever to sweet Poesie, Let me live true votary ! She shall lead me by the hand, Queen of soft smiles and solace bland! She from her sacred stores shall shed Ambrosial flow'rets o'er


head : She shall be my blooming bride, With her as years successive glide, I'll ever hold sweet dalliance, Enwrapt as in some magic trance.

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S late I strove LUCILLA's lip to kiss,

She with discurtesee reprov'd my will;
Doft thou, she said, affect so pleasant bliss,
A simple shepherd, and a lofell vile ?
Not Fancy's hand should join my courtly lip
To thine, as I myself were fast asleep.

As thus she spake, full proud and boasting lasse,
And as a peacocke pearke, in dalliance
She bragly turned her ungentle face,
And all disdaining ey'd my shape askaunce :
But I did blush, with grief and shame yblent,
Like morning rose with hoary dewe besprent.

Tell me, my


fellows all, am I not fair ? Has fell enchantress blasted all

my charms ? Whilom mine head was sleek with tressed hayre, My laughing eyne did shoot out love's alarms: E’en Kate did deemen me the faireft swain, When erst I won this girdle on the plain.


My lip with vermil was embellished,
My bagpipes notes loud and delicious were,
The milk-white lilly, and the rose so red,
Did on my face depeinten lively cheere,
My voice as foote as mounting larke did shrill,
My look was blythe as MARG'Ret's at the mill.

But she forsooth, more fair than Madge or KATE,
A dainty maid, did deign not shepherd's love;
Nor wist what THENOT told us swains of late;
That venus sought a fhepherd in a grove ;
Nor that a heav'nly God who PHOEBUS height,
To tend his flock with shepherds did delight.

Ah! 'tis that venus with accurst despight,
That all my dolour, and my shame has made !
Nor does remembrance of her own delight,
For me one drop of pity sweet persuade ?
Aye hence the glowing rapture may she miss,
Like me be fcorn'd, nor ever taste a kiss !







HE Graces fought in yonder stream,

When love's malicious godhead came,

And stole their robes away.

THE T. Cool the fervid day


Proud of the theft, the little god

Their robes bade delIA wear;
While they alham'd to ftir abroad,

Remain all naked here.

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