Ev'n he, whose nod a thousand beauties wait, But O! bright Nymph, let not a long return Make wretched we your tedious absence mourn: Let then the barbarous nations soon restore Fair Galatea to the British shore: Else they expect in vain the war should cease, And England's Moderator signs in vain the peace. TO THE LADY MARCHIONESS GREY. BY THE HON. MISS MARGARET YORKE. THY shades, Vacuna, and thy verdant meads, And O! inspire my verse, while it recites Or if with laughter clear the dome resounds, Or round the spacious garden choose to prance; Whether the setting-sun-beam's golden fire Still Innocence and Virtue lead the round, The mild commands of her, whose name adorns this lay! TO A LADY, WITH A PRESENT OF POPE'S WORKS. BY THE HON. CHARLES YORKE. THE lover oft, to please some faithless dame, |