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She's blooming as May,

Brifk, lively, and gay,

V.

The Graces play all round about her;
She's prudent and witty,

Sings wondrously pretty,

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And there is no living without her.

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B

TALES.

THE TURTLE AND SPARROW.

AN ELEGIAC TALE*.

EHIND an unfrequented glade,

Where yew and myrtle mix their shade,
A widow Turtle penfive fat,

And wept her murder'd lover's fate.
The Sparrow chanc'd that way to walk,
(A bird that loves to chirp and talk)
Be fure he did the Turtle greet,
She answer'd him as fhe thought meet.
Sparrows and Turtles, by the bye,
Can think as well as you or I;

But how they did their thoughts exprefs
The margin fhews by T. and S.

T. My hopes are loft, my joys are fled,
Alas! I weep Columbo dead :
Come, all ye winged Lovers, come,
Drop pinks and daifies on his tomb;
Sing, Philomel, his fun'ral verse,
Ye pious Redbreafts deck his hearse;
Fair Swans, extend your dying throats,
Columbo's death requires your notes;
For him, my friend, for him I moan,
My dear Columbo, dead and gone.

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Stretch'd on the bier Columbo lies.
Pale are his cheeks, and clos'd his eyes;
Thofe eyes, where beauty fmiling lay,
Thofe eyes, where Love was us'd to play;
Ah! cruel Fate, alas! how foon
That beauty and thofe joys are flown!

Columbo is no more: ye Floods,

Bear the fad found to diftant woods;
The found let Echo's voice restore,

And fay, Columbo is no more.

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This piece was written upon the fincere affection fhewn by Q. Anne

for the lofs of her Royal Confort, 1708,

Ye Floods, ye Woods, ye Echoes, moan
My dear Columbo, dead and gone.
The Dryads all forfook the wood,
And mournful Naiads round me ftood,
The tripping Fawns and Fairies came,
All confcious of our mutual flame,
To figh for him, with me to moan,
My dear Columbo, dead and gone.
Venus difdain'd not to appear,
To lend my grief a friendly ear;
But what avails her kindness now?
She ne'er fhall hear my fecond vow:
The Loves that round their mother flew
Did in her face her forrows view;
Their drooping wings they penfive hung,
Their arrows broke, their bows unftrung
They heard attentive what I said,
And wept, with me, Columbo dead :
For him I figh, for him I moan,
My dear Columbo, dead and gone.
'Tis ours to weep, great Venus faid,
'Tis Jove's alone to be obey'd:
Nor birds nor goddeffes can move
The juft behefts of fatal Jove :
I faw thy mate with fad regret,
And curs'd the fowler's cruel net :
Ah! dear Columbo, how he fell,
Whom Turturella lov'd fo well!
I faw him bleeding on the ground,
The fight tore up my ancient wound :
And whilft you wept, alas! I cry'd,

Columbo and Adonis dy`d.

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Weep, all ye Streams, ye Mountains, groan; 65 I mourn Columbo, dead and gone ;

Still let my tender grief complain,
Nor day nor night that grief restrain;
I faid, and Venus ftill reply'd,
Columbo and Adonis dy'd.

S. Poor Turturella, hard thy cafe,
And just thy tears, alas, alas!

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T. And haft thou lov'd, and canft thou hear

With piteous heart a lover's care!

Come, then, with me thy forrows join,
And ease my woes by telling thine;

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For thou, poor bird, perhaps may'st moan
Some Pafferella, dead and gone.

S. Dame turtle, this runs foft in rhyme,

So

But neither fuits the place nor time;
The fowler's hand, whofe cruel care
For dear Columbo fet the fnare,
The fnare again for thee may fet;
Two birds may perish in one net:
Thou fhouldft avoid this cruel field,
And forrow should to prudence yield.
'Tis fad to die-

T.

It be fo;

may

'Tis fadder yet to live in woe.

S. When widows ufe their canting strain

They feem refolv'd to wed again.

T. When wid'wers would this truth difprove,

They never tafted real love.

S. Love is foft joy and gentle ftrife,
His efforts all depend on life:

When he has thrown two golden darts,
And ftruck the lovers mutual hearts,
Of his black fhafts let death fend one,
Alas! the pleafing game is done:
Il is the poor furvivor fped,
A corpfe feels mighty cold in bed,
Venus faid right, Nor tears can move
Nor plaints revoke the will of Jove.

All must obey the gen'ral doom,
Down from Alcides to Tom Thumb.
Grim Pluto will not be withstood
By force or craft. Tall Robinhood,
As well as little John, is dead.
(You fee how deeply I am read)
With Fate's lean tipftaff none can dodge,
He'll find you out where'er you lodge.

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Ajax, to fhun his gen'ral pow'r,
In vain abfconded in a flow'r.
An idle fcene Tythonus acted,
When to a grafhopper contracted;
Death ftruck them in those shapes again,
As once he did when they were men.
For reptiles perish, plants decay;
Flesh is but grafs, grafs turns to hay,
And hay to dung, and dung to clay.
Thus heads extremely nice discover
That folks may die fome ten times over;
But oft' by too refin'd a touch

To prove things plain they prove too much.
Whate'er Pythagoras may fay,

(For each you know will have his way)
With great fubmiffion I pronounce
That people die no more than once:
But once is fure, and death is common
To bird and man, including woman:
From the fpread eagle to the wren,
Alas! no mortal fowl knows when.
All that wear feathers, first or laft,
Muft one day perch on Charon's mast;
Muft lie beneath the cyprefs fhade,
Where Strada's nightingale was laid.
Thofe fowl who feem alive to fit,
Affembled by Dan Chaucer's wit,
In profe have flept three hundred years,
Exempt from worldly hopes and fears,
And, laid in state upon their hearse,
Are truly but embalm'd in verse.
As sure as Lebia's Sparrow I,

Thou fure as Prior's Dove, muft die,
And ne'er again from Lethe's streams
Return to Adda or to Thames.

T. I therefore weep Columbo dead,
My hopes bereav'd, my pleasures fled;
I therefore muft for ever moan
My dear Columbo, dead and gone.

S. Columbo never fees your tears,
Your cries Columbo never hears;

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