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< Shalt in a Dunghill, or a Sty,

'Midft Filth and Vermin rot and die.





EHIND an unfrequented Glade,

Where Yew and Myrtle mix their Shade, A Widow Turtle penfive fat,

And wept her murder'd Lover's Fate.
The Sparrow chanc'd that Way to walk,
(A Bird that loves to chirp and talk)
Be fure he did the Turtle greet,
She answer'd him as fhe thought meet.
Sparrows and Turtles, by-the-bye,
Can think, as well as You or I:
But how they did their Thoughts express,
The Margin fhows by T. and S.

T. My Hopes are loft, my Joys are fled, Alas! I weep Columbo dead:

Come, all ye winged Lovers, come,
Drop Pinks and Daifies on his Tomb.
Sing, Philomel, his Fun'ral Verfe,
Ye pious Redbreafts, deck his Hearse.
Fair Swans extend your dying Throats,
Columbo's Death requires your Notes:
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For Him, my Friend, for Him I moan,
My dear Columbo, dead and gone.

Stretch'd on the Bier, Columbo lies,
Pale are his Cheeks, and clos'd his Eyes:
Thofe Cheeks, where Beauty smiling lay;
Those Eyes, where Love was us'd to play :
Ah! cruel Fate, alas! how foon

That Beauty and thofe Joys are flown!
Columbo is no more, ye Floods,

Bear the fad Sound to diftant Woods:
The Sound let Echo's Voice restore,
And fay, Columbo is no more:
Xe Floods, ye Woods, ye Echoes, moan
My dear Columbo, dead and gone.

The Dryads all forfook the Wood,
And mournful Naiads round me stood;
The tripping Fawns and Fairies came,
All confcious of our mutual Flame;
To figh for him, with me to moan,
My dear Columbo, dead and gone.
Venus difdain'd not to appear
To lend my Grief a friendly Ear;
But what avails her Kindness now?
She ne'er fhall hear my fecond Vow.
The Loves that round their Mother flew,
Did in her Face her Sorrows view.
Their drooping Wings they penfive hung,
Their Arrows broke, their Bows unftrung;
They heard attentive what I said,

And wept with me, Columbo dead ; ·


For him I figh, for him I mean,


My dear Columbo, dead and
'Tis our's to weep, great Venus faid,
'Tis Jove's alone to be obey'd:
Nor Birds, nor Goddeffes can move
The juft Behefts of fatal Jove:
I faw thy Mate, with fad Regret,
And curs'd the Fowler's cruel Net.
Ah! dear Columbo, how he fell,
Whom Turturella lov'd fo well!
I faw him bleeding on the Ground,
The Sight tore up my ancient Wound
And whilst you wept, alas! I cry'd,
Columbo and Adonis dy'd.

Weep, all ye Streams, ye Mountains, groan,
I mourn Columbo, dead and gone:
Still let my tender Grief complain,
Nor Day, nor Night, that Grief restrain.
I faid, and Venus ftill reply'd,

Columbo and Adonis dy'd.

S. Poor Turturella, hard thy Cafe, And just thy Tears, alas! alas!


And haft thou lov'd, and cant thou

With piteous Heart, a Lover's Care?
Come then, with me thy Sorrows join,
And ease my Woes by telling thine:
For thou, poor Bird, perhaps mayft moan
Some Pafferella, dead and gone.


S. Dame Turtle, this runs foft in Rhime, But neither fuits the Place nor Time; The Fowler's Hand, whofe cruel Care For dear Columbo fet the Snare; The Snare again for thee may fet, Two Birds may perifh in one Net. Thou fhou'd'ft avoid this cruel Field, And Sorrow fhou'd to Prudence yield. 'Tis fad to die. T. It may be fo 'Tis fadder yet to live in Woe.

S. When Widows use their canting Strain, They seem refolv'd to wed again.

T. When Wid'wers wou'd this Truth dif prove,

They never tafted real Love.

S. Love is foft Joy and gentle Strife,
His Efforts all depend on Life :
When he has thrown two golden Darts,
And ftruck the Lovers mutual Hearts,
Of his black Shafts let Death fend one,
Alas! the pleafing Game is done;
Ill is the poor Survivor fped,
A Corps feels mighty cold in Bed.
Venus faid right, nor Tears can move,
Nor Plaints revoke the Will of Jove.

All must obey the genʼral Doom,
Down from Alcides to Tom Thumb.
Grim Pluto will not be withstood,
By Force or Craft. Tall Robinhood,.

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As well as Little John, is dead.
(You fee how deeply I am read)

With Fate's lean Tipftaff none can dodge,
He'll find you out where'er you lodge.
Ajax, to fhun his gen'ral Pow'r,
In vain abfconded in a Flow'r.
An idle Scene Tythonus acted,
When to a Grafshopper contracted.
Death ftruck them in those Shapes again,
As once he did when they were Men.
For Reptiles perish, Plants decay,
Flefh is but Grafs, Grafs turns to Hay,
And Hay to Dung, and Dung to Clay.
Thus Heads extremely nice discover,
That Folks may die, fome ten Times over;
But oft by too refin'd a Touch,


To prove Things plain, they prove too much. Whate'er Pythagoras may say,

(For each, you know, will have his Way)
With great Submiffion I pronounce,

That People die no more than once :
But once is fure, and Death is common
To Bird and Man, including Woman.
From the Spread Eagle to the Wren,
Alas! no mortal Fowl knows when:
All that wear Feathers, firft or last,
Muft one Day perch on Charon's Maft;
Muft lie beneath the Cypress Shade,
Where Strada's Nightingale was laid.

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