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Blind with the glorious blaze;-to vulgar fight
To point out faults, yet never to offend;
A ftrict integrity, devoid of art;
The sweetest manners, and fincerest heart;
IMITATION of SPENSER.
A Well-known vafe of fovereign ufe I fing,
Pleafing to young and old, and Jordan hight, The lovely queen, and eke the haughty king Snatch up this veffel in the murky night: Ne lives there poor, ne lives there wealthy wight, But ufes it in mantle brown or green; Sometimes it ftands array'd in gloffy white; And eft in mighty dortours may be seen Of China's fragile earth, with azure flowrets sheen. K 4
The virgin, comely as the dewy rofe,
Here frouzy housewives clear their loaded reins; The beef-fed justice, who fat ale doth fwill, Grafps the round-handled jar, and tries, and strains, While flowly dribbling down the scanty water drains. III.
The dame of Fraunce fhall without fhame convey This ready needment to its proper place; Yet fhall the daughters of the lond of Fay Learn better amenaunce and decent grace; Warm blushes lend a beauty to their face, For virtue's comely tints their cheeks adorn; Thus o'er the distant hillocks you may trace The purple beamings of the infant morn: Sweet are our blooming maids-the fweeteft creatures
'None but their hufbands or their lovers true
Think not, good swain, that these are scornful airs, Think not for hate they fhun thine amorous eye, Soon fhall the fair return, nor done thee, youth, to dye. V. While
While Belgic frows across a charcoal stove (Replenish'd like the Veftal's lafting fire) Bren for whole years, and fcorch the parts of love, No longer parts that can delight inspire, Erft cave of bliss, now monumental pyre; O British maid, for ever clean and neat, For whom I aye will wake my fimple lyre, With double care preserve that dun retreat, Fair Venus' myftic bower, Dan Cupid's feather'd feat.
O! fweeter than the lilies of the dale,
In foft breasts the fruits of joyance grow.
Brave be the youth from whom your bosoms glow,
Ne other joy but you the faithful ftriplings know.
EPISTLE TO J. PITT, Esq.
In Imitation of HORACE, EPIST. IV. Book I.
To all my trifles you attend,
But drop the critic to indulge the friend,
Here with my books or friend I spend the day,
Or fome new bill, that, when the house is met,
The facred duties of the wife and good?
Uncommon worth is ftill with fate at ftrife,
You'll find your rhyming kinfman well in cafe,
EPISTLE to MR. SPENCE.
Ín Imitation of HORACE, EPIST. X. Book I. EALTH from the bard who loves the rural fport, To the more noble bard that haunts the court: In every other point of life we chime, Like two foft lines when coupled into rhyme. I praise a spacious villa to the sky, You a close garret full five ftories high; I revel here in Nature's varied fweets, You in the nobler scents of London ftreets. I left the court, and here at ease reclin'd, Am happier than the king who ftaid behind: Twelve stifling dishes I could scarce live o'er, At home I dine with luxury on four. Where would a man of judgment chufe a feat, But in a wholesome, rural, foft retreat? Where hills adorn the manfion they defend? Where could he better answer Nature's end?