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Thy hand that knows the subtler art,
To weave those nets that catch the heart
Spread out by me, the roving coin
Thy nets may catch, but not confine;
Nor can I hope thy silken chain
The glittering vagrants shall restrain.
Why, Stella, was it then decreed,

The heart once caught, should ne'er be freed.

EPIGRAM.

ON GEORGE II. AND COLLY CIBBER, ESQ.

AUGUSTUS still survives in Maro's strain, And Spencer's verse prolongs Eliza's reign; Great George's acts let tuneful Cibber sing, For nature formed the poet for the king.

STELLA IN MOURNING.

WHEN lately Stella's form displayed
The beauties of the gay brocade,

The nymphs, who found their power decline,
Proclaimed her not so fair as fine.

"Fate, snatch away the bright disguise, And let the goddess trust her eyes."

Thus blindly prayed the fretful fair,

And fate malicious, heard the prayer;
But, brightened by the sable dress,
As virtue rises in distress,

Since Stella still extends her reign,
Ah! how shall envy sooth her pain?
The adoring youth and envious fair,
Henceforth shall form one common prayer;
And love and hate alike implore

The skies" That Stella mourn no more."

TO STELLA.

NOT the soft sighs of vernal gales,
The fragrance of the flowery vales,
The murmurs of the crystal rill,
The vocal grove, the verdant hill;
Not all their charms, though all unite,
Can touch my bosom with delight.

Not all the gems on India's shore,
Not all peru's unbounded store-
Not all the power, nor all the fame,
That heroes, kings, or poets claim-
Nor knowledge which the learned approve;
To form one wish, my soul can move.

Yet nature's charms allure my eyes,
And knowledge, wealth, and fame I prize;

Fame, wealth, and knowledge I obtain,
Nor seek I nature's charms in vain;
In lovely Stella all combine,
And, lovely Stella, thou art mine.

VERSES

Written at the request of a Gentleman to whom a Lady had given a sprig of Myrtle.

WHAT hopes, what terrors, does this gift create;
Ambiguous emblem of uncertain fate.
The myrtle (ensign of supreme command,
Consigned to Venus by Melissa's hand)
Not less capricious that a reigning fair
Oft favours, oft rejects a lover's prayer.
In myrtle shades oft sings the happy swain,
In myrtle shades despairing ghosts complain-
The myrtle crowns the happy lover's heads,
The unhappy lover's graves the myrtle spreads:
Oh! then, the meaning of thy gift impart,
And ease the throbbings of an anxious heart.
Soon must this sprig, as you shall fix his doom,
Adorn Philander's head, or grace his tomb.

TO LADY FIREBRACE.

At Bury Assizes.

At length must Suffolk beauties shine in vain, So long renowned in B-n's deathless strain! Thy charms at least, fair Firebrace, might inspire Some zealous bard to wake the sleeping lyre; For such thy beautious mind and lovely face, Thou seemest at once, bright nymph, a muse and grace.

TO LYCE,

AN ELDERLY LADY

Ye nymphs whom starry rays invest,

By flattering poets given,

Who shine, by lavish lovers drest,

In all the pomp of heaven.

Engross not all the beams on high,

Which gild a lover's lays,

But, as your sister of the sky,

Let Lyce share the praise,

Her silver locks displays the moon,

Her brows a cloudy show;

Striped rainbows round her eyes are seen,
And showers from either flow:

Her teeth the night with darkness vies;
She's starred with pimples o'er;
Her tongue like nimble lightning plies,
And can with thunder roar.

But some Zelinda, while I sing,
Denies my Lyce shines;

And all the pens of Cupid's wing

Attack my gentle lines.

Yet, spite of fair Zelinda's eye,
And all her bards express;

My Lyce makes as good a sky,
And I but flatter less.

ON THE DEATH OF

MR. ROBERT LEVETT,

A Practiser in Physick.

CONDEMNED to hope's delusive mine,
As on we toil from day to day,
By sudden blasts, or slow decline,
Our social comforts drop away,

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