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'Tis true, when beauty dawns with early fire,
And hears the flattering tongues of soft desire,
If not from virtue, from its gravest ways.
The soul with pleasing avocation strays..
But beauty gone, 'tis easier to be wise;
As harpers better, by the lofs of eyes.

Henceforth retire, reduce your roving airs,
Haunt less the plays, and more the public pray’rs,
Reject the Mechlin head, and gold brocade,
Go pray, in sober Norwich crape array’d.
Thy pendent diamonds let thy Fanny take,
(Their trembling luftre shows how much you shake)
Or bid her wear thy necklace row'd with pearl,
You'll find your Fanny an obedient girl.
So for the rest, with less incumbrance hung,
You walk thro' life, unmingled with the young;
And view the shade and substance as you pass

. With joint endeavour trifing at the glass, Or Folly drest, and rambling all her days, To meet her counterpart, and grow by praise :

Yet

Yet still sedate yourself, and gravely plain,
You neither fret, nor envy at the Vain.

'Twas thus, if man with woman we compare,
The wise Athenian crost a glittering fair,
Unmov'd by tongues and fights, he walk'd the place,
Thro'tape, toys, tinfel, gimp, perfume and face ;
Then bends from Mars's hill his awful eyes,
And What a world I never want ? he cries :
But cries unheard : for folly will be free.
So parts the buzzing gaudy crowd, and he :
As careless he for them, as they for him ;
He wrapt in wisdom, and they whirld by whim.

The

The BO O K-W OR M.

C The Book op, wavening beape of prey,

OME hither, boy, we'll hunt to-day

The Book-Worm, ravening beast of prey, Produc'd by parent earth, at odds, As fame reports it, with the Gods. Him frantic hunger wildly drives Againit a thousand Authors lives : Thro' all the fields of wit he flies; Dreadful his head with clust'ring eyes, With horns without, and tusks within, And scales to serve him for a skin.

Observe him nearly, left he climb
To wound the bards of ancient time,

Or down the vale of fancy go

To tear some modern wretch below.

On ev'ry corner fix thine eye,

Or ten to one he slips thee by.

See

See where his teeth a passage eat :
We'll rouse him from the deep retreat.
But who the shelter's forc'd to give ?
'Tis sacred Virgil, as I live!
From leaf to leaf, from long to song,
He draws the tadpole form along,
He mounts the gilded edge before,
He's up, he fouds the cover o'er,
He turns, he doubles, there he past,
And here we have him, caught at last.

Insatiate brute, whose teeth abuse

The sweetest servants of the Muse.

(Nay never offer to deny,
I took thee in the fact to Ay:)
His roses nipt in ev'ry page,
My poor Anacreon mourns thy rage,
By thee my Ovid wounded lies;
By thee my Lesbia's sparrow dies :
Thy rabid teeth have half-destroy'd
The work of love in Biddy Floyd,

They They rent Belinda's locks

away,

And spoild the Blouzelind of Gay.
For all, for ev'ry single deed,
Relentless justice bids thee bleed.
Then fall a victim to the Nine,
My self the priest, my desk the shrine..

Bring Homer, Virgil, Taffo near,
To pile a sacred altar here;
Hold, boy, thy band out-runs thy wit,
You reach'd the plays that Dennis writ;
You reach'd me Philips rustic strain ;
Pray take your mortal Bards again. .

Come bind the victim,- there he lies,
And here between his num'rous eyes,
This venerable dust I lay,
From manuscripts just swept away.

The goblet in my hand I take,
(For the libation's yet to make)
A health to Poets ! all their days
May they have bread, as well as praise ;

Sense

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