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Each thinks his neighbour makes too free,
ON THE DEATH OF MRS. (NOW LADY) THROCK
Ye nymphs ! if e'er your eyes were red
O share Maria's grief !
Assassin'd by a thief.
Where Rhenus strays his vines among,
And, though by nature mute,
Of flagelet or flute.
The honours of his ebon poll
His bosom of the hue
To sweep away the dew.
Above, below, in all the house,
No cat had leave to dwell ;
of smoothest shaven wood,
Well latticed—but the grate, alas !
For Bully's plumage sake,
The swains their baskets make.
Night veild the pole : all seem'd secure :
Subsistence to provide,
And badger-colour’d hide.
He, entering at the study door,
And something in the wind
Food chiefly for the mind.
Just then, by adverse fate impress'd,
In sleep he seem'd to view
A rat fast clinging to the cage,
Awoke and found it true.
For, aided both by ear and scent,
Ah, muse! forbear to speak
He left poor Bully's beak.
O had he made that too his
prey ; That beak, whence issued many a lay
Of such mellifluous tone, Might have repaid him well, I wote, For silencing so sweet a throat,
Fast stuck within his own.
Maria weeps—the Muses mourn-
On Thracian Hebrus' side
The cruel death he died.
The rose had been wash’d, just wash'd in a shower,
Which Mary to Anna convey'd,
And weigh'd down its beautiful head.
The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet,
And it seem'd, to a fancifäl view, To weep
for the buds it had left, with regret, On the flourishing bush where it grew.
I hastily seized it, unfit as it was
For a nosegay, so dripping and drown’d, And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas !
I snapp'd it, it fell to the ground.
And such, I exclaim’d, is the pitiless part
Some act by the delicate mind,
Already to sorrow resign'd.
This elegant rose, had I shaken it less,
Might have bloom'd with its owner a while ; And the tear, that is wiped with a little address, May be follow'd perhaps by a smile.
REASONING at every step he treads,
mistakes his way, While meaner things, whom instinct leads,
Are rarely known to stray.
One silent eve I wander'd late,
And heard the voice of love; The turtle thus address'd her mate,
And soothed the listening dove:
Our mutual bond of faith and truth
No time shall disengage,
Shall cheer our latest age :
While innocence without disguise,
And constancy sincere,
And mine can read them there;
Those ills, that wait on all below,
Shall ne'er be felt by me, Or gently felt, and only so,
As being shared with thee.