ET fages, with fuperfluous pains, LE The learned page devour; While Florio better knowledge drains From each inftructive flow'r. II. His fav'rite Rose his fear alarms, All opening to the fun; Like vain coquettes, who fpread their charms, And shine, to be undone, III. The Tulip, gaudy in its dress, And made for nought but show, In every sense, may well exprefs The glittering, empty beau! IV. The Snow-drop first but peeps to light, And fearful fhews its head; Thus modeft merit fhines more bright, By felf-diftruft misled. V. Th' Auric'la, which through labour rofe, The force of education shows;` He marks the Sensitive's nice fit; If each man's darling vice were hit, VII. Beneath each common hedge, he views The Violet, with care; Hinting we should not worth refuse, Although we find it there. VIII. The Tuberofe that lofty fprings, Nor can fupport its height, Well represents imperious kings, Grown impotent by might. IX. Fragrant, IX. Fragrant, though pale, the Lily blows; To teach the female breaft, How virtue can its fweets difclofe Το X. every bloom that crowns the year, Nature fome charm decrees; Learn hence, ye nymphs, her face to wear, Ye cannot fail to please. SONG. By the Same. WE XXXX HILE, Strephon, thus you teize one, It cannot fure be treason, If I the truth impart. 'Twas not your fmile, though charming; 'Twas not your eyes, though bright; 'Twas not your bloom, though warming; Nor beauty's dazzling light. Z 3 'Twas 1 'Twas not your drefs, though fhining; No 'twas your generous nature; Bold, foft; fincere, and gay: It shone in every feature, Or, Verses on Roman Medals. To Mr. W. L By Mr. GRAVES. I. O! the rich Cafket's mimic dome! Where cells in graceful rows The triumphs of imperial Rome In miniature difelose. II. Lefs II. Lefs facred far those tinsel shrines, And relics, modern Rome confines, Of legendary drones. III. In figur'd brafs we here behold What patriots firm or heroes bold Ages to come shall hence be taught, How mighty Julius fpoke or fought, VI. Auguftus here with placid mien, Bids raging difcord cease; The gates of War clofe-barr'd are feen, And all the world is peace. |