No birds in our hedges fhall fing,

(Our hedges fo vocal before) Since he that should welcome the spring, Can greet the gay feafon no more,

His Phillis was fond of his praise,
And poets came round in a throng;
They liften'd, and envy'd his lays,
But which of them equall'd his fong?
Ye fhepherds, henceforward be mutę,
For loft is the pastoral strain;

So give me my Corydon's flute,

And thus--let me break it in twain..

J. CUNNINGHAM.

FINI S.

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