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The shining robes, rich jewels, beds of state,
But, Madam, if the Fates withstand, and you
Thus * Voiture's early care still shone the same, And Montháusier was only chang'd in name : 70 By this ev'n now they live, ev'n now they charm, Their wit still sparkling, and their flames still warm.
Now crowni'd with myrtle on th' Elysian coast, Amid those lovers, joys his gentle ghost; Pleas'd while with smiles his happy lines you view, And finds a fairer Rombouillet in you.
76 The brightest eyes in France inspir'd his Muse; The brightest eyes of Britain now peruse; And dead, as living, 'tis our author's pride Still to charm those who charm the world beside.
* Mademoiselle Paulet.
She went to plain work, and to purling brooks,
Some squire, perhaps, you take delight to rack,
Or with his hounds comes hallowing from the stable,
In some fair ev'ning, on your elbow laid,
So when your slave, at some dear idle time, (Not plagu'd with headachs or the want of rhyme) Stands in the streets abstracted from the crew, And while he seems to study, thinks of you; Just when his fancy points your sprightly eyes, 45 Or sees the blush of soft Parthenia rise, Gay pats my shoulder, and you vanish quite, Streets, chairs, and coxcombs, rush upon my sight: Vext to be still in Town, I knit my brow, Look sour, and hum a tune, as you may now. 50
To Mr. John Moore, Quibor of the celebrated worm
powder. How much, egregious Moore ! are we
Deceiv'd by shews and forms!
Whate'er we think, whate’er we see,
All human kind are worms.
Man is a very worm by birth,
Vile reptile, weak, and vain!
Then shrinks to earth again.
That woman is a worm we find,
E’er since our grandame's evil;
That ancient worm the devil.
The blockhead is a slow-worm;
Is aptly term'd a Glow-worm.
And in a worin decay.
Thus worins suit all conditions;
And death-watches physicians.
That statesmen have the worm, is seen
By all their winding play:
That gnaws them night and day.
Ah, Moore! thy skill were well employ'd,
30 If thou couldst make the courtier void,
The worm that never dies !
Who sett'st our entrails free;
35 Since worms shall eat ev'n thee. Our fate thou only canst adjourn
Some few short years, no more!
To Mrs. M. B. on her birth-day. Ou! be thou bless'd with all that Heav'n can send, Long health, long youth, long pleasure, and a friend: Not with those toys the female world admire, Riches that vex, and vanities that tire. With added years, if life bring nothing new, But like a sieve let ev'ry blessing ihro', Some joys still lost, as each vain year runs o'er, And all we gain some sad reflection more : Is that a birth-day? 'tis, alas! too clear, 'Tis but the fun'ral of the former year.
Let joy or ease, let affluence or content, And the gay conscience of a life well spent, Calm ev'ry thought, inspirit ev'ry grace, Glow in thy heart, and smile upon thy face.