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A pointed dart with anguish tipt,

A cup of poison, take;"
An opening bud, untimely nipt,

A victim at a rack,

A bleeding heart, a vestal flame,

A mind in deep despair,
A thousand tortures without name,

And sigh out, Killing Fair!
Each look that faintly speaks disdain,

A flash of lightning call;
And should she give denial plain, ,

Be that a thunder ball.

Ten thousand oaths, all well apply'd,

Must, here in course be ta’en;
Tho' they're all meant to be bely'd,

And taken o'er again.
Swear that her eyes are two bright stars,

Her cheeks exceed the rose,
And purer white than lily bears

On her soft bosom flows.
Her lips must crimson velvet be,

And silver all her teeth;
Sweeter than any nutmeg tree

Must be her spicy breath.

The sun must be as cold as ice,

When with your flame compar'd;
Nay, light be darkness in a trice,

If she but speak the word.

Then, you must break your heart in two;-.

Send her the better half:-
She'll, may be, say 'tis something new,

And condescend to laugh:
And when she laughs the sun must shine

With an enliveniog ray;--
Her smile be brightness all divine,

A perfect summer's day.

Let daggers, poisons, blood, and death,

Fill every other line;
Between them let the gentle breath

Of soft persuasion shine.

First talk of love, and then the grave,

Of racks and woodbine bow'rs; Now swear, now praise, kiss, weep, and rave;

lo time she must be yours.


When I first came to London, I rambled about
From sermon to sermon, took a slice and went out;
Then on me, in divinity batchelor, try'd
Many priests to obtrude a Levitical bride;
And urging their various opinions, intended
To make me wed systems, which they recommended.

Said a letch'rous old fry'r skulking near Lincoln's Inn,
Whose trade's to absolve, but whose pastime's to sin;
Who, spider like, seizes weak protestant flies,
Which hung in his sophistry cobweb he spies;
Ah pity your soul, for without our church pale,
If you happen to die, to be damn'd you can't fail;
The bible, you boast, is a wild revelation;
Hear a church that can't err if you hope for salvatiot.

Said a formal non-con, whose rich stock of grace Lies forward expos'd in shop-window of face, Ah! pity your soul, come, be of our sect, For then you are safe, and may plead you're elect; As it stands in the Acts, we can prove ourselves saints, Being Christ's little flock ev'ry where spoke against.

Said a jolly church parson devoted to ease, While penal law dragons guard his golden fleece, If you pity your soul, I pray listen to neither; The first is in error, the last a deceiver: That ours is the true church, the sense of our tribe is, And surely in medio tutissimus ibis.

Said a yea and nay friend with a stiff hat and band, Who while he talk'd gravely would hold forth his Dominion and wealth are the aim of all three, [hand, Tho' about ways and means they may all disagree; Then prithee be wise, go the quaker's by-way, T is plain, without turnpikes, so nothing to pay.

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Imitated from the Spanish of Lopez de Vega.

Menagiana, tom. iv. p. 176.
Capricious W- a Sonnet needs must have;

I ne'er was so put to't before :--A Sonnet!

Why, fourteen verses must be spent upon it; 'Tis good howe'er t'have conquer'd the first stave. Yet I shall ne'er find rhymes enough by half,

Said I, and found myself i'th’midst o'th'second.

If twice four verses were but fairly reckon'd, I should turn back on th' hardest part and laugh. Thus far with good success I think I've scribbled,

And of the twice seven lines have clean got o'er ten. Courage! another'll finish the first triplet.

Thanks to thee, muse, my work begins to shortengo There's thirteen lines got through driblet by driblet. 'Tis donel count how you will, I warrant there's


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