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o, no! for in this all the world must agree,
pain, I am still but too ready to feel them again : If, then, for this once in my life I am free, And escape from a snare might catch wiser than me; 'Tis that beauty alone but imperfectly charms, For tho' brightness may dazzle, 'tis kindness that
As on suns in the winter with pleasure we gaze,
m, But love, and love only, the heart can enflame.
The bumble Petition of the worshipful Company of Poets and News-writers,
That these their misfortunes, they humbly con
ceive, Arise not from dullness, as some folks believe, But from rubs in their way, that your honor has laid, And yant of materials to carry on trade.
That they always had forni'd high conceits of their
use, And meant their last breath should go out in abuse; But now (and they speak it with sorrow and tears), Since your
honor has sate at the helm of affairs, No party will join 'em, no faction invite To heed what they say, or to read what they write; Sedition, and Tumult, and Discord are fled, And Slander scarce ventures to lift up her head In short, public bus’ness is so carried on, That their country is savod, and the patriots undone.
To perplex him still more, and sure famine to
bring (Now satire has lost both its truth and its sting), If, in spite of their natures, they bungle at praise, Your honor regards not, and nobody pays.
Your Petitioners therefore most humbly entreat
Or else ( if your wisdom shall deem it all one),
your honor would please, at this dangerous crisis To take to your bosom a few private vices; By which your petitioners, haply, might thrive, And keep both themselves and contention alive.
In compassion, good Sir! give 'em something to
say, And your honor's petitioners ever shall pray.
BY JOSEPH SPENCE, M.A.
At length the gallant navy from afar