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That in these haunts he met the devil.

He own'd, tho' their advice, was vain,
It fuited wights who trod the plain:
For dullness-tho' he might abhor it-
In them, he made allowance for it.
Nor wonder'd, if beholding mottos,

And urns, and domes, and cells, and grottos,
Folks, little dreaming of the muses,

Were plagu'd to guess their proper uses.

But did the muses haunt his cell?
Or in his dome did VENUS dwell?

Did PALLAS in his counfels fhare?
The Delian god reward his pray'r?
Or did his zeal engage the fair?
When all the structures fhone compleat;
Not much convenient, wond'rous neat;
Adorn'd with gilding, painting, planting,
And the fair guests alone were wanting;
Ah me! ('twas DAMON'S Own confeffion)
Came poverty, and took poffeffion.

PART the FOURTH.

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WHY droops my DAMON, whilft he roves

Thro' ornamented meads and groves?

Near columns, obelisks, and spires,

Which ev'ry critic eye admires?

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maid,

I is poverty,
Sole tenant of their ample fhade!
'Tis fhe, that robs him of his ease;
And bids their very charms difplease.

But now, by fancy long controul'd,
And with the fons of taste enroll'd,

He deem'd it fhameful, to commence
First minister to common-sense:

Far more elated, to pursue

The lowest task of dear vertû.

And now behold his lofty foul,
That whilom flew from pole to pole,
Settle on fome elaborate flow'r ;
And, like a bee, the fweets devour!
Now, of a rose enamour'd, prove
The wild folicitudes of love!
Now, in a lily's cup enfhrin'd,
Forego the commerce of mankind!
As in these toils he wore away
The calm remainder of his day;
Conducting fun, and fhade, and fhow'r,

As most might glad the new-born flow'r,
So fate ordain'd-before his eye-

Starts

up the long-fought butterfly!

While flutt'ring round, her plumes unfold
Celestial crimson, dropt with gold.
Adieu, ye bands of flow'rets fair!
The living beauty claims his care:

For

I

(

Cou'd DAMON's warm purfuit restrain.

See him o'er hill, morafs, or mound,
Where'er the fpeckled game is found,
Tho' bent with age, with zeal pursue;
And totter tow'rds the prey in view.
Nor rock, nor ftream, his steps retard,
Intent upon the bleft reward!

One vaffal fly repays the chace!
A wing, a film, rewards the race!
Rewards him, tho' difeafe attend,
And in a fatal surfeit, end.
So fierce CAMILLA fkim'd the plain,
Smit with the purple's pleasing ftain,
She ey'd intent the glitt'ring ftranger,
And knew alas! nor fear, nor danger:
'Till deep within her panting heart,
Malicious fate impell'd the dart!
How ftudious he what fav'rite food
Regales dame nature's tiny brood!
What junkets fat the filmy people!
And what liqueurs they chufe to tipple!
Behold him, at fome crife, prefcribe,
And raise with drugs the fick'ning tribe!
Or haply, when their spirits fau'ter,
Sprinkling my Lord of CLOYNE's tar-water.
When nature's brood of infects dies,
See how he pimps for am'rous flies!

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See him the timely fuccour lend her,
And help the wantons to engender!

Or fee him guard their pregnant hour;
Exert his foft obstetric pow'r :
And, lending each his lenient hand,
With new-born grubs enrich the land!

* O WILKS! what poet's loftieft lays
Can match thy labours, and thy praise ?
Immortal fage! by fate decreed
To guard the moth's illuftrious breed!
'Till flutt'ring fwarms on swarms arise,
And all our wardrobes teem with flies!
And must we praise this taste for toys?
Admire it then in girls and boys.
Ye youths of fifteen years, or more,
Refign your moths-the feafon's o'er.
'Tis time more focial joys to prove ;
'Twere now your nobler task-to love.
Let ****'s eyes more deeply warm ;
Nor, flighting nature's fairest form,
The biafs of your souls determine

Tow'rds the mean love of nature's vermin.
But ah! how wond'rous few have known,
To give each stage of life its own.
'Tis the pretexta's utmost bound,

With radiant purple edg'd around,
To please the child; whose glowing dyes
Too long delight maturer eyes:

And

Alluding to Mr. WILKS's very expenfive propofals.

The plain-wrought labours of the loom.
Ah! let not me by fancy steer,
When life's autumnal clouds appear;
Nor ev'n in learning's long delays
Confume my faireft, fruitless days:
Like him, who should in armour spend
The fums that armour should defend.
Awhile, in pleasure's myrtle bow'r,
We share her smiles, and blefs her pow'r :
But find at last, we vainly strive

To fix the worst coquette alive.

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you that with affiduous flame Have long purfu'd the faithlefs dame Forfake her foft abodes awhile,

;

And dare her frown, and flight her smile.
Nor fcorn, whatever wits may fay,

The foot-path road, the king's high-way.
No more the fcrup'lous charmer teize,
But feek the roofs of honeft eafe;
The rival fair,. no more purfu'd,
Shall there with forward pace

Shall there her ev'ry are effay,

intrude;

To win you to her flighted sway;

.

And grant your fcorn a glance more fair
Than e'er she gave your fondest pray'r.
But would you happiness purfue?
Partake both ease, and pleasure too?

Would

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