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Thy Joys no glittering female meets,
No hive haft thou of hoarded sweets,

No painted plumage to display:
On hafty wings thy youth is flown;
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone

We frolick, while 'tis May.

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O DE

ON THE DEATH OF A

FAVOURITE CAT,

Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes.

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'T

WAS on a lofty vase's fide,

Where China's gayeft art had dy'd
The azure flowers, that blow;
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima reclin'd,

Gazed on the lake below,

Her

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