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This dog and man at first were friends;

But when a pique began,
The dog, to gain his private ends,
Went mad, and bit the man.

Around from all the neighbouring streets,

The wondering neighbours tan, And swore the dog had lost his wits, To bite so good a man.

The wound it seem'd both fore and fad

To every christian eye ;
And while they swore the dog was mad,

They swore the man would die.

But soon a wonder came to light,

That shew'd the rogues they ly'd, The man recover'd of the bite,

The dog it was that dy’d.

ST A N.

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W HEN lovely woman stoops to folly,

And finds too late that men betray, What charm can soothe her melancholy,

What art can walh her guilt away?.

The only art her guilt to cover,

To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover,

And wring his bosom-is, to die.

THE

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TO THE

REV. HENRY GOLDSMIT H.

DEAR SIR,

TAM fenfible that the friendship between us can acquire no new force from the ceremonies of a Dedication ; and perhaps it demands an excuse thus to prefix your name to my attempts, which you decline giving with your own. But as a part of this Poem was formerly written to you from Switzerland, the whole can now, with propriety, be only inseribed to you. It will also throw a light upon many parts of it, when the reader understands, that it is addrefled to a man, who, defpifing Fame and Fortune, has retired early to Happiness and Obscurity, with an income of forty pounds a year.

I now perceive, my dear brother, the wisdom of your humble choice. You have entered upon a facred office, where the harvest is great, and the labourers are but few; while you have left the field of Ambition, where the tabourers are many, and

the

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