The gentle air allow'd my And, more to chear my drooping frame, Or fcents SABEA's blooming vales. Neglect their votary's anxious moan: Oh, how should they relieve?-the mufes all were flown By flowery plain, or woodland fhades, I leave behind my native mead, To range where zeal and friendship lead, To vifit L****'s honour'd bower. Ah foolish man! to feek the tuneful maids Scarce have my footsteps prefs'd the favour'd ground, When founds etherial ftrike my ear; At once celeftial forms appear; My fugitives are found! The mufes here attune their lyres, 3 Here, Here, hand in hand, with careless mien, But whilst I wander'd o'er a scene so fair, Lurks not a ftone enrich'd with lively stain, Glows not a fhell on ADRIA's rocky fhore, And fome had bent the wildering maze, of show. Or 'mid the decorated space, Affign'd the laurel'd bust a place, And given to learning all the pomp And now from every task withdrawn, They met and frifk'd it o'er the lawn. Ah! woe is me, faid I; And ***'s hilly circuit heard my cry, Have Have I for this, with labour strove, To fence for you my fhady grove, And fcollop every winding fhore; And fringe with every purple rose, The faphire ftream that down my valley flows? Ah! lovely treacherous maids! To quit unfeen my votive fhades, To fwell the fong, or plan the fhade; Her native genius guides her hand, And while the marks the fage command, More lovely fcenes her skill shall raise, Her lyre refound with nobler lays Than ever you infpir'd. Thus I my rage and grief difplay; Till LUXBOROUGH lead the way. Written Written in a FLOWER BOOK of my own Colouring, defigned for Lady PLI MOUTH. 1753-4. Debite nymphis opifex corona. HOR. RING, FLORA, bring thy treasures here, BRIN The pride of all the blooming year; Not nature can, herself, prepare Whofe pleasing mien, and make refin'd, From all the nymphs of plain or grove, Deferv'd and won my PLIMOUTH's love. ANACRE ANACREONTIC. 1738. WAS in a cool Aonian glade, "TW The wanton CUPID, spent with toil, A vagrant mufe drew nigh, and found And is it thine to fnore profound, But hufh-from this aufpicious hour, Sleep on, poor child! whilft I withdraw, That magic fount-ill-judging maid! For |