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EPILOGUE.

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What are your far-fam'd warriors to us, 'Bout whom historians make such mighty fuss: Posterity may think it was uncommon

That Troy should be demolish'd for a woman;
But ours your ten years sieges will excel,
And justly be esteem'd the nonpareil.

Our cause is slighter than a dame's betrothing,

For all these mighty feats have sprung from nothing.

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WHERE winding Forth adorns the vale,

Fond Strephon, once a shepherd gay, Did to the rocks his lot bewail,

And thus address'd his plaintive lay : "O Julia! more than lily fair,

"More blooming than the budding rose, "How can thy breast, relentless, bear

"A heart more cold than Winter's snows.

"Yet nipping Winter's keenest sway,
"But for a short-liv'd space prevails:

"Spring soon returns, and cheers each spray,
"Scented with Flora's fragrant gales.
"Come, Julia! come; thy love obey,

"Thou mistress of angelic charms!

Come, smiling like the morn in May,
"And bless thy Strephon's longing arms:

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"Else, haunted by the fiend Despair, "He'll court some solitary grove, "Where mortal foot did ne'er repair, "But swains oppress'd by hapless love. "From the once pleasing rural throng "Remov'd, he'll thro' the desert stray, << Where Philomela's mournful song "Shall join his melancholy lay."

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AMIDST a rosy bank of flowers,

Damon, forlorn, deplor'd his fate;

In sighs he spent his languid hours,
And breath'd his woes in doleful state.

Gay joy no more shall cheer his mind; No wanton sports can soothe his care; I i

VOL. I.

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Since sweet Amanda prov'd unkind,
And left him full of black despair.

His looks, that were as fresh as mòrn,
Can now no longer smiles impart ;
His pensive soul, on sadness borne,

Is rack'd and torn by Cupid's dart.

Turn, fair Amanda ! cheer your

swain;

Unshroud him from his veil of woe;

Turn, gentle nymph! and ease the pain

That in his tortur'd breast doth grow.

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ЕРІТАРН,

ON GENERAL WOLFE..

IN worth exceeding, and in virtue great,

Words would want force his actions to relate.
Silence, ye bards! eulogiums vain forbear;
It is enough to say that Wolfe lies here.

EXTEMPORE,

On being asked which of the three Sisters was the most Beautiful.

WHEN Paris gave his voice, in Ida's grove,
For the resistless Venus, queen of love,
'Twas no great task to pass a judgment there,
Where she alone was exquisitely fair;

But here what could his ablest judgment teach,
When wisdom, pow'r, and beauty reign in each;
The youth, nonplus'd, behov'd to join with me,
And wish the apple had been cut in three.

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