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While the fpread fan o'erfhades your clofing eyes;
Then give one flirt, and all the vifion flies.
Thus vanish fceptres, coronets and balls,
And leave you in lone woods, or empty walls.
So when your flave, at fome, dear idle time,
(Not plagu'd with headachs, or the want of rhyme)
Stands in the streets, abftracted from the crew,
And while he seems to ftudy, thinks of you:
Juft when his fancy points your fprightly eyes,
Or fees the blush of Partheniffa rife,

G-y pats my shoulder, and you vanish quite;
Streets, chairs, and coxcombs, rufh upon my fight;
Vext to be ftill in town, I knit my brow,

Look fow'r, and hum a fong-as you may now.







E gone, ye critics, and reftrain your spite;
Codrus writes on, and will for ever write;

The heaviest muse the fwifteft course has gone,

As clocks run fafteft when moft lead is on.

What tho' no bees around your cradle flew,
Nor on your lips diftill'd their golden dew,
Yet have we oft' difcover'd in their stead
Afwarm of drones that buzz'd about your head.
When you, like Orpheus, ftrike the warbling lyre,
Attentive blocks ftand round you, and admire.

Wit, pafs'd thro' thee, no longer is the fame,
As meat digested, takes a diff'rent name;
But fenfe muft fure thy fafeft plunder be,
Since no reprizals can be made on thee.

Thus thou may'ft rife, and in thy daring flight
(Tho ne'er fo weighty) reach a wond'rous height;
So, forc'd from engines, lead it felf can fly,
And pondrous flugs move nimbly thro' the sky.
Sure Bavius copy'd Mavius to the full,

And Charilus taught Codrus to be dull;

Therefore, dear friend, at my advice give o'er,
This needlefs labour, and contend no more,
To prove a dull Succeffion to be true,
Since 'tis enough we find it fo in you.


On a FAN of the Author's Defign, in which was painted the Story of CEPHALUS and PROCRIS, with the Motto, Aura Veni.


OME, gentle air! th' Eolian fhepherd faid,
While Procris panted in the secret shade;

Come, gentle air, the fairer Delia cries,
While at her feet her fwain expiring lies.
Lo the glad gales o'er all her beauties ftray,
Breathe on her lips, and in her bofom play!)
In Delia's hand this toy is fatal found,
Nor could that fabled dart more furely wound:
Both gifts deftructive 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 fhe gives,
She views the story with attentive eyes,

And pities Procris, while her lover dies.


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In Imitation of the style of the late E. of R.



Ilence! coeval with eternity;

Thou wert, e'er nature firft began to be,

'Twas one vaft nothing, all, and all sleep faft

in thee.


Thine was the fway, e'er heav'n was form'd, or earth,

E'er fruitful thought conceiv'd creation's birth, Or midwife word gave aid, and spoke the infant forth.


III. Then

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