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THE VIOLET. SHELTER’D from the blight ambition, » Fatal to the pride of rank, See me in my low condition,

Laughing on the tufted bank. On ny robes (for emulation)

No variety's impreft; Suited to an humble station,

Mine's an unembroider'd vest.
Modeft though the maids declare me,

May in her fantastic train,
When PASTOR A deigns to wear me,

Ha’n’t a flow'ret half so vain.

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