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A pointed dart with anguish tipt,
A cup of poison, take;"
A victim at a rack,
A bleeding heart, a vestal flame,
A mind in deep despair,
And sigh out, Killing Fair!
A flash of lightning call;
Be that a thunder ball.
Ten thousand oaths, all well apply'd,
Must, here in course be ta’en;
And taken o'er again.
Her cheeks exceed the rose,
On her soft bosom flows.
And silver all her teeth;
Must be her spicy breath.
The sun must be as cold as ice,
When with your flame compar'd;
If she but speak the word.
Then, you must break your heart in two;-.
Send her the better half:-
And condescend to laugh:
With an enliveniog ray;--
A perfect summer's day.
Let daggers, poisons, blood, and death,
Fill every other line;
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.
BY MR. MATTHEW GREEN.
When I first came to London, I rambled about
Said a letch'rous old fry'r skulking near Lincoln's Inn,
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.
Menagiana, tom. iv. p. 176.
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