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Unless the world were all prepar'd t'embrace
A plan well worthy to supply their place ;
Yet, backward as they are, and long have been,
To cultivate and keep the MORALS clean,
(Forgive the crime) I wish them, I confess,
Or better manag’d, or encourag'd lesse,

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ON

THE

D Ε Α Τ Η

OF

Mes. THROCKMORTON'S BULFINCH.

Ye nymphs! if e'er your eyes were red
With tears o'er hapless fav’rites shed,

O share Maria's grief !
Her fay’rite, even in his cage,
(What will not hunger's cruel rage?)

Assassin'd by a thief.

Where Rhenus strays his vines among,
The egg was laid from which he sprung,

And though by nature mute,
Or only with a whistle blest,
Well-taught he all the sounds express'd

Of Aagelet or Aute.

The honours of his ebon poll
Were brighter than the neeket mole,

His bofom of the hue
With which Aurora decks the skies,
When piping winds Thail soon arise

To sweep up all the dew.

Above, below, in all the house,
Dire foe, alike to bird and moufe,

No cat had leave to dwell;
And Bully's cage supported food,
On props of smootheft-shaven wood,

Large.built and lattic'd well.

Well-lattic'd--but the grate, alas!
Not rough with wire or feel or brass,

For Bully's plumage sake,
But smooth with wands from Ouse's fide,
With which, when neatly peel’d and dried,

The swains their baskets make.

Night veil'd the pole. All feem'd secure.
When led by instinct sharp and sure,

Subsistence to provide,
A beast forth-fallied on the scout,
Long-back’d, long-tail'd, with whisker'd fnout,

And badger-colour'd hide.

He, ent’ring at the study-door,
Its ample area 'gan explore;

And something in the wind
Conjectur’d, sniffing round and round,
Better than all the books he found,

Food, chiefly, for the minde

Just then, by adverse fate impress’d,
A dream disturb’d poor Bully's rest;

In Neep he seem'd to view
A rat, fast-clinging to the cage,
And screaming at the sad presage,

Awoke and found it true.

For, aided both by ear and scent,
Right to his mark the monster went-

Ah, muse! forbear to speak
Minute the horrors that ensued ;
His teeth were strong, the cage was wood

He left poor Bully's beak.

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He left it but he should have ta’en
That beak, whence issued many a strain

Of such melliAuous tone,
Might have repaid him well, I wot,
For filencing so sweet a throat,

Fast fet within his own.

Maria weeps—The Muses mourn
So, when by Bacchanalians torn,

On Thracian Hebrus' fide
The tree-enchanter Orpheus fell;
His head alone remain'd to tell

The cruel death he died.

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The rose had been waih’d, just walh'd in a shower,

Which Mary to Anna convey'd,
The plentiful moisture incumber'd the flower,

And weigh'd down its beautiful head.

'The cup was all fillid, and the leaves were all wet,

And it seem'd to a fanciful view,
To weep for the buds it had left with regret,

On the fiourishing bush where it grew.
I haftily seiz'd 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 pitilefs part

Some act by the delicate mind,
Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart

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 wip'd with a little address,

May be follow'd perhaps by a smile.

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