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Ye nymphs! if e'er your eyes were red
With tears o'er hapless fav’rites shed,

O share Maria's grief !.
Her fav’rite, even in his cage,
(What will not hunger's cruel rage?)

Affaflin'd by a thief.

Where Rhenus strays his vines among,
The egg was laid from which he sprung,

And though by nature mute,
Or only with a whistle blest,
Well-taught, he all the founds express’d

Of fagelet or flute.

The honours of his ebon poll
Were brighter than the neekest mole;

His bofom of the hue

With which Aurora decks the skies,

When piping winds shall soon arife

To fweep up all the dew,

Above, below, in all the house,
Dire foe, alike to bird and mouse,

No cat had leave to dwell;
And Bully's cage supported stood,

of smootheft-shaven wood,
Large-built and lattic'd well.

Well-lattic'd but the


alas! Not rough with wire of steel or brass,

For Bully's plumage fake, But smooth with wands from Ouse's side, With which, when neatly peeld and dried,

The fwains their baskets make,


Night veil'd the pole. All seem'd secure. .
When led by instinct sharp and sure,

Subsistence to provide,
A beast forth-fallied on the scout,
Long-back’d, long-tail'd, with whisker'd snout,

And badger-colour'd hide.

He, ent’ring at the study-door,
Its ample area 'gan explore;

And something in the wind
Conjectur’d, sniffing round and round,
Better than all the books he found,

Food, chiefly, for the mind.


Just then, by adverse fate impress’d,
A dream disturbid poor Bully's relt;

In Neep he seem'd to view
A rat, fast-clinging to the cage,
And, screaming at the sad presage,

Awoke and found it true.

For, aided both by ear and scent,
Right to his mark the monster went-

Ah, Muse! forbear to speak
Minute the horrors that ensued;
His teeth were strong, the cage was wood

He left poor Bully's beak.

He left it-but he should have ta'en

That beak, whence issued many a strain

Of such mellifluous tone, Might have repaid him well, I wote, For silencing so sweet a throat,

Fast fet within his own.

Maria weeps-The Muses mourn
So, when by Bacchanalians torn,

On Thracian Hebrus' fide

The tree-enchanter Orpheus fell;
His head alone remain'd to tell

The cruel death he died.


The rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a shower, Which Mary to Anna convey'd,

The plentiful moisture incumber'd the flower, And weigh'd down its beautiful head.

The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet, And it seem'd to a fanciful view,

To weep for the buds it had left with regret, On the flourishing bush where it


I hastily seiz’d it, unfit as it was,
For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd,

And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas!
Į snapp'd it, it fell to the ground.

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