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Her form with dress and lotion they repair;
The sacred implement I now employ
Ye writers of what none with safety reads;
But the muse, eagle-pinion'd, has in view A quarry more important still than you; Down, down the wind she swims, and sails away, Now stoops upon it, and now grasps
prey. Petronius! all the muses weep for thee; But ev'ry tear shall scald thy memory : The graces too, while Virtue at their shrine Lay bleeding under that soft hand of thine,
One sad epistle thence may cure maskine
And through life's labyrinth holds tast the end
And ev'ry post, and where the chaise broke du
Felt each a mortal stab in ber ova breast,
Of the plague spread by bundles lett beline
That Education gives hier, false or true.
Froin school to Cain or Isis, and tu ne se
With much to learn, but nothing to impart The youth, obedicat to his site's commands, Sets off a wand'rer into foreign lands.