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[Junc 29. 1793.]

Deum architect of fine chATEAUX in air,

Worthier to stand for ever, if they could,

Than any built of stone, or yet of wood, For back of royal elephant to bear!

O for permission from the skies to share,

Much to my own, though little to thy good,

With thee (not subject to the jealous mood !! A partnership of literary ware !

But I am bankrupt now; and doom'd henceforth

To drudge, in descant dry, on other's lays; Bards, I acknowledge, of unequall'd worth !

But what is commentator's happiest praise

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That he has furnish'd lights for other eyes,
Which they, who need theni, use, and then despiso

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A SPANIEL, Beau, that fares like you,

Well fed, and at his ease,
Should wiser be than

than to pursue
Each trifle that he sees.

But you have kill'd a tiny bird,

Which few not till to-day,
Against my orders, whom you licard
Forbidding you



Nor did you kill that you might eat,

And ease a doggish pain,
For him, though chas'd with furious leat,

You left where ho was slain.

Nor was he of the thicvish sort,

Or one whum blood allures,
But innocent was all his sport

Whom you have torn for yours

My dog! what reinedy remains,

Since, teach you all I can, ,
I see you, after all my pains,

So much resomble Man?




SIR, when I flew to seize the bird

In spite of your command,
A louder voice than yours I heard,

And harder to withstand.

You cried-forbear - but in my breast

A mightier cried-proceed'Twas Nature, Sir, whose strong behest

Impelld me to the deed.

Yet much as nature I respect,

I ventur'd once to brcak, (As you, perhaps, may recollect)

Jler precept for your sake;

And when your linnet on a day,

Passing his prison door,
Had flutter'd all his strength away,

And panting press'd the floor,

Well knowing him a sacred thing,

Not destin'd to iny tooth,
I only kiss'd his ruflled wing,

And lick'd the feathers smooth.

Let my obedience then excuse

My disobedience now,
Nor some reproof yourself refuse

From your aggriev'd Bow-wow;

If killing birds be such a crime,

(Which I can hardly see,) What think you, Sir, of killing Time

With verse address:d to ine?



Stanzas addressed to Lady Hesketh, by Miss Catharine Fanshaw, in returning a Poem of Mr. Cowpcr's lent to her on condition she should neither show it, nor take a copy.

To be remembered thus is fanie,

And in the first degree ;
And did the few like her the same,

The press inight sleep for me.

So Ilomer, in the mem'ry se

Of many a Grecian bolle,
Was once preservid--a richer hoarii,

But never lodged so well.





His translating the Author's Song on a Rose into

Italian Verse.


My rose, Gravina, blooms anew,

And, steep'd not now in rain,
But in Castalian streams by You,

Will never fade again.



[September, 1793.]

Tue suitors sinn'd, but with a fair excuse.
Whom all this elegance might well seduce
Nor can our censure on the husband fall,
Who, for a wife so lovely, slew them all.

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I should have deem'd it once an effort vain,
To sweeten inore sweet Maro'a matchless strain,
But from that urrour now behold me free,
Since I receiv'd him as a gift from Thce.

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