II.

Thus thy praise fhall be expreft,

Inoffenfive, welcome guest !

While the rat is on the scout,

And the mouse with curious fnout,

With what vermin else infest

Every dish and spoil the best;

Frisking thus before the fire,

Thou haft all thine heart's defire.

III.

Though in voice and shape they be

Form'd as if akin to thee,

Thou furpaffeft, happier far,

Happieft grafshoppers that are,
Theirs is but a fummer's fong,
Thine endures the winter long,
Unimpair'd and fhrill and clear,
Melody throughout the year.

IV. Neither

IV.

Neither night nor dawn of day,
Puts a period to thy play,

Sing then-and extend thy fpan

Far beyond the date of man-
Wretched man, whofe years are spent
In repining discontent;

Lives not, aged though he be,

Half a fpan compar'd with thee.

IV. THE PARROT.

I.

IN painted plumes fuperbly dreft,

A native of the gorgeous east,

By many a billow toft;

Poll gains at length the British fhore,

Part of the captain's precious store,

A present to his toast.

II.

Belinda's maids are foon preferr❜d

To teach him now and then a word,

As Poll can mafter it;

But 'tis her own important charge

To qualify him more at large,

And make him quite a wit.

III.

Sweet Poll! his doating mistress cries,

Sweet Poll! the mimic bird replies,

And calls aloud for fack,

She next inftructs him in the kifs,

'Tis now a little one like Mifs,

And now a hearty fmack.

IV.

At first he aims at what he hears

And liftening clofe with both his ears,

Juft catches at the found;

But foon articulates aloud,

Much to th' amusement of the crowd,

And ftuns the neighbours round.

V.

A querulous old woman's voice

His humorous talent next employs,

He fcolds and gives the lie;

And now he fings, and now is fick,

Here Sally, Sufan, come, come quick,

Poor Poll is like to die.

VI.

Belinda and her bird! 'tis rare

To meet with such a well match'd pair,

The language and the tone,

Each character in every part

We think them tedious creatures;

But difficulties foon abate,

When birds are to be taught to prate,

And women are the teachers.

Written in a Time of Affliction.

I.

OH happy fhades! to me unbleft,
Friendly to peace, but not to me,

How ill the scene that offers reft,

And heart that cannot reft, agree!

II.

This glaffy ftream, that spreading pine,
Those alders quiv'ring to the breeze,
Might foothe a foul less hurt than mine,
And please, if any thing could please.

But fix'd unalterable care

III.

Foregoes not what the feels within,

Shows the same sadness ev'ry where,
And flights the season and the scene.

For