IN painted plumes fuperbly drest,
A native of the gorgeous eaft,
By many a billow toft ;

Poll gains at length the British shore,
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 master 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 inftru&s 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 close with both his ears,

Just catches at the found;

But foon articulates aloud,

Much to th' amufement 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 fuch a well-match'd pair,

The language and the tone,

Each character in every part
Suftain'd with so much grace and art,

And both in unifon.

VII. When

VII.

When children first begin to spell
And stammer out a fyllable,

We think them tedious creatures;
But difficulties foon abate,

When birds are to be taught to prate,
And women are the teachers.

THE

SHRUBBERY.

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 stream, that spreading pine,
Those alders quiv'ring to the breeze,
Might footh a foul lefs hurt than mine,
And please, if any thing could please.

III. But

But fixt unalterable care

III.

Foregoes not what the feels within, Shows the fame sadness ev'ry where, And flights the season and the scene.

IV.

For all that pleas'd in wood or lawn,
While peace poffefs'd these filent bow'rs,

Her animating fmile withdrawn,

Has loft its beauties and its pow'rs.

V.

The faint or moralift fhould tread
This mofs-grown alley, mufing flow,

They feek like me the fecret fhade,
But not like me, to nourish woe.

VI.

Me fruitful fcenes and profpects wafte,
Alike admonish not to roam,

These tell me of enjoyments past,
And thofe of forrows yet to come.

THE

THE WINTER NOSEGAY.

I.

WHAT nature, alas! has denied
To the delicate growth of our isle,
Art has in a measure fupplied,

And winter is deck'd with a smile.
See, Mary, what beauties I bring

From the shelter of that funny fhed,
Where the flow'rs have the charms of the spring,
Though abroad they are frozen and dead.

II.

'Tis a bow'r of Arcadian fweets, Where Flora is ftill in her prime,

A fortrefs to which she retreats,

From the cruel affaults of the clime. While earth wears a mantle of fnow,

Thefe pinks are as fresh and as gay, As the faireft and sweetest that blow

On the beautiful bofom of May.

III.

See how they have safely surviv’d
The frowns of a fky fo fevere,

Such Mary's true love that has liv'd

Through many a turbulent year.

The