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At church, in silks and sattins new,

With hoop of monstrous size, She never slumber'd in her

pew But when she shut her eyes.

Her love was sought, I do aver,

By twenty beaux and more ;
The king himself has follow'd her-

When she has walk'd before.

But now her wealth and finery fled,

Her hangers-on cut short all;
The doctors found, when she was dead

Her last disorder mortal.

Let us lament, in sorrow sore,

For Kent-street well may say,
That had she liv'd a twelvemonth more

She had not died to-day.

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WEEPING, murmuring, complaining,

Lost to every gay delight; Myra, too sincere for feigning,

Fears th' approaching bridal night.


Yet why impair thy bright perfection?

Or dim thy beauty with a tear? Had Myra follow'd my direction,

She long had wanted cause of fear.




THE wretch condemn’d with life to part,

Still, still on hope relies;
And ev'ry pang that rends the heart,

Bids expectation rise.

Hope, like the glimm’ring taper's light,

Adorns and cheers the way ;
And still, as darker grows the night,

Emits a brighter ray.


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O MEMORY! thou fond deceiver,

Still importunate and vain, To former joys recurring ever,

And turning all the past to pain ;

Thou, like the world, th' opprest oppressing,

Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe ! And he who wants each other blessing,

In thee must ever find a foe.


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WHAT! no way left to shun th’inglorious stage,
And save from infamy my sinking age ?
Scarce half alive, oppress'd with many a year,
What, in the name of dotage, drives me here?
A time there was, when glory was my guide,
Nor force nor fraud could turn my steps aside;
Unaw'd by power, and unappal'd by fear,
With honest thrift I held


honour dear :

* This translation was first printed in one of our Author's earliest works, “ The Present State of Learning in Europe," 12mo, 1759

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