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Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling, Turning short round, strutting, and sideling, Attested, glad, his approbation Of an immediate conjugation. Their sentiments so well expressed, Influenced mightily the rest; All paired, and each pair built a nest.
But though the birds were thus in haste, The leaves came on not quite so fast, And destiny, that sometimes bears An aspect stern on man's affairs, Not altogether smiled on theirs. The wind, of late breathed gently forth, Now shifted east, and east by north; Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know, Could shelter them from rain or snow : ; into their nests, they paddled, Themselves were chilled, their eggs were addled ; Soon every father bird and mother Grew quarrelsome, and pecked each other, Parted without the least regret, Except that they had ever met, And learned in future to be wiser Than to neglect a good adviser.
Misses the tale that I relate
Choose not alone a proper mate,
EPITAPH ON A HARE,
ERE lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue, Nor swifter greyhound follow, Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew, Nor ear heard huntsman's halloo.
Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,
And to domestic bounds confined,
Though duly from my hand he took
He did it with a jealous look,
His diet was of wheaten bread,
Thistles, or lettuces instead,
On twigs of hawthorn he regaled,
And, when his juicy salads failed,
A Turkey carpet was his lawn,
To skip and gambol like a fawn,
His frisking was at evening hours,
But most before approaching showers,
Eight years and five round rolling moons
Dozing out all his idle noons,
I kept him for his humour's sake,
My heart of thoughts that made it ache,
But now beneath his walnut shade
And waits, in snug concealment laid,
He, still more agèd, feels the shocks
And, partner once of Tiney's box,
SONNET TO A YOUNG LADY ON HER BIRTHDAY.
EEM not, sweet rose, that bloom'st 'midst many a thorn, Thy friend, though to a cloister's shade consigned, Can e'er forget the charms he left behind, Or pass unheeded this auspicious morn In F. Sier days to brighter prospects born, Oh, tell thy thoughtless sex, the virtuous mind, Like thee, content in every state may find, And look on Folly's pageantry with scorn ;
To steer with nicest art betwixt the extreme
WRITTEN IN A QUARREL (The IELIVERY of IT PREVENTED BY A REconcILIATIon).
HINK, Delia, with what cruel haste
Be wise, my fair, and gently treat
Think, thus abused, what sad regret
Sure in those eyes I loved so well,
Anger I thought could never dwell,
No bold offence of mine I knew
And, early taught to think you true,
With kindness bless the present hour,
What can we do in absence more
Fated to ills beyond redress,
The days allowed us to possess,
THE SYMPTOMS OF LOWE,
OULD my Delia know if I love, let her take W W My last thought at night and the first when I wake; When my prayers and best wishes preferred for her sake.
Let her guess what I muse on, when rambling alone
Let her think what odd whimsies I have in my brain,
Let her say why so fixed and so steady my look,
Or why when with pleasure her praises I hear
And lastly, when summoned to drink to my flame,