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The fatal curiofity. By the fame. From Drydens

"Miscellaneous poems," 1727

- 279

Retirement. An ode. By Thomas Warton the elder.

From his "Poems," 1745

An invocation to a water-nymph. By the fame.

From the fame authority

An American love-ode.

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283

284

291

297

Epitaphs. By the fame. From the fame authority 304
Fables. By John Gay, efq. From his " Fables,”

(vol. 1.) 1733, and (vol. 2.) 1738
Paftorals. By the fame. From his "Shepherds

Week," 1714

The birth of the fquire. An eclogue. In imitation
of the Pollio of Virgil. By the fame. From
bis "Poems," 1737

On the fetting-up mr. Butler's monument in Weft-
minfter-abbey. By Samuel Wesley. From his
"Poems," 1736

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- 307

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Briton," 1732

On the death of a young gentleman. By Chriftopher

Pitt. From his " Poems," 1779

Sonnet. By Thomas Edwards. From the "Ca-
nons of criticism," 1758

Epigram, from the Greek. By the fame. From
the fame authority

·

- 336
The Baftard. Infcribed, with all due reverence,
to mrs. Brett, once countess of Macclesfield. By
Richard Savage. From his " Works," 1775 339
Epitaph on a young lady. By the fame. From the
fame authority

Upon the bishop of Rochester's banishment, in 1723.
By Philip, duke of Wharton. From "The True

318

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336

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348

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THE

ENGLISH ANTHOLOGY,

PART THE FIRST.

THE LOVER COMPLAINETH OF THE UN

KINDNESS OF HIS LOVE.

BY SIR THOMAS WYATT.

My lute, awake; perform the last

Y

Labour that thou and I fhall waft,

And ende that I have now begunne; And when this fong is fong and paft, My lute, be ftyll; for I have done.

5

Born 1503; dyed 1541. To diftinguish him from another of the name, he is usually called Sir Thomas Wyatt the elder.

As to be heard where eare is none,
As leade to grave in marble stone,

My song may pearce her hart as foon;
Should we then figh, or fing, or mone?
No, no, my lute, for I have done.

The rocks do not fo cruelly
Repulse the waves continually,

As fhe my fuite and affection;
So that I am paft remedy,

Whereby my lute and I have done.

Vengeance shall fall on thy disdaine,
That makest but game on earnest payne;
Think not alone under the funn
Unquit to cause thy lovers playne,
Although my lute and I have done.

Proude of the fpoyle that thou haft gotte
Of fimple hearts, through lovés fhot,

By whome, unkind, thou haft them wonne;
Think not he hath his bow forgott,
Although my lute and I have done.

May 'chance' thee lye withred and old,
In winter nights that are so cold,

Playning in vaine unto the moon;
Thy wishes then dare not be told,
Care then who lift, for I have doone.

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V. 26. chanced.

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