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ON A FAN OF THE AUTHOR's Design, in which was painted the story of CEPHALIS and Procris, with the motto, Aura Veni.
OME, gentle air! th' Æolian shepherd said,
While Procris panted in the secret shade; Come, gentle air! the fairer Delia cries, While at her feet her swain expiring lies. Lo the glad gales o'er all her beauties stray, 5 Breathe on her lips, and in her bosom play! In Delia's hand this toy is fatal found, Nor could that fabled dart more surely wound: Both gifts destructive to the givers prove; Alike both lovers fall by those they love. Yet guiltless too this bright destroyer lives, At random wounds, nor knows the wound the gives: She views the story with attentive eyes, And pities Procris, while her lover dies.
The GARDE N.
And humble glories of the youthful Spring;
Where lilies smile in virgin robes of white, 5 1 The thin undress of fuperficial light;
And vary'd tulips show so dazzling gay,
infants in their beds are laid, is The garden's hope, and its expected shade. Here orange-trees with bloonis and pendants shine, And vernal honours to their autumn join; Exceed their promise in the ripen'd store, Yet in the rising blossom promise more. 20 There in bright drops the crystal fountains play, By laurels shielded from the piercing day: Where Daphne, now a tree as once a maid, Still from Apollo vindicates her shade, Still turns her beauties from th’invading beam, Nor seeks in vain for succour to the stream. 26 The stream at once preserves her virgin leaves, At once a shelter from her boughs receives, Where Summer's beauty midst of Winter stays, And Winter's coolness spite of Summer's rays. 30
WE E PING.
CHILE Celia's tears make forrow bright,
Proud Grief lits swelling in her eyes;
And thus through mifts we see the fun,
These filver-drops, like morning:dew,
Foretel the fervour of the day:
And blasting lightning burst away.
The baby in that sunny sphere
So like a Phaeton appears, That Heav'n, the threaten'd world to spare, 45
Thought fit to drown him in her tears: Else might th' ambitious Nymph aspire, To set, like him, Heav'n too on fire.
Larl of ROCHESTER.
to be, 'Twas one vast nothing, all, and all slept fäft in thee.
II. Thine was the fway, ere heav'n was form’d, or
earth, Ere fruitful Thought conceiv'd creation's birth, Or midwife Word gave aid, and spoke the infant forthi
In one more various animal combin'd,
Lost in the maze of words he turns again,
Oppress'd with argumental tyranny,
And in thy bofom lurks in Thought's disguise;
Folly by thee lies sleeping in the breast,
25 The only honour of the wishing dame; Thy very want of tongue makes thee á kind of
36 XI. Yet Speech ev'n there submissively withdraws, From rights of subjects, and the poor man's cause:
slaws. Then pompous Silence reigns, and stills the noisy
What fav’rites gain, and what the nation owes
The courtier's learning, policy o’th' gown,
Lord's quibble, critic's jeft; all end in thee,
Earl of DORSET.
HOUGH Artemisia talks, by fits,