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IVX ALA
AIR XVIII.

FLATTERING hopes the mind deceiving

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Eafy faith too often cheat, Woman, fond and all believing Loves and hugs the dear deceit.

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Noify fhew of pomp and riches,
Cupid's trick to catch the fair,
Lowly maids too oft bewitches,
Flattery is the beauty's fnare.

AIR XIX.

WHAT's all the pomp of gaudy courts,
But vain delights and jingling toys,
While pleasure crowns your rural fports
With calm content, and tranquil joys.

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AIR XXI A

RETURN, Tweet lafs, to flocks and twains, YHW Where fimple Nature midly reigns; we to T Where Love is every shepherd's care, o tuodel soni2 And every nymph is kind as fair, Tobasiy) yst

The court has only tinfel toys,
Infipid mirth and idle noife
But rural joys are ever new,

pang) H fw.dom dan ail ld. Jeg zoos1q} brÂ

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While nymphs are kind, and shepherds true.^^ ♫ vi

AIR

XXI.

AGAIN in ruftic weeds array'd,
A fimple swain, a fimple maid,
O'er rural scenes with joy we'll rove,
By dimpling brook, or cooling grove.

The birds fhall ftrain their little throats,
And warble wild their merry notes;
Whilft we converfe beneath the shade,
A happy fwain, and happy maid.

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Thy hands fhall pluck, to grace my bow'r,
The luscious fruit, the fragrant flow'r,
Whilft joys fhall blefs, for ever new,
Thy PHOEBE kind, my COLIN true.

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A IR XXIIA

WHY fhould I now, my love, complain,
That toil awaits thy chearful fwain,
Since labour oft a fweet beftows
Which lazy fplendour never knows?

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Hence springs the purple, tide of health,
The rich man's wifh, the poor man's wealth,
And spreads those blushes o'er the face,
Which come and go with native grace.

The pride of drefs, the pomp of fhew,
Are trappings oft to cover woe;
But we, whose wishes never roam,
Shall tafte of real joys at home.

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AIR XXIII.

NO doubt but your fool's-cap has known
His highness obligingly kind,

-Odzooks I could knock the fool down,
Was e'er fuch a cuckoldy hind?

To be fare, like a good-natur'd fpoufe,
You've lent him a part of your bed;
He has fitted the horns to your brows,
And I fee them fprout out of your head.

Το

To keep your wife virtuous and chafte
The court is a wonderful fchool,
- My Lord you've an excellent taste.
And, fon, you're a cuckoldy fool.

If your lady fhould bring you an heir,
The blood will flow rich in his veins,

Many thanks to my Lord for his care

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You dog, I could knock out your brains. ■*

GRA SAI

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The Satyr and Pedlar

The Nightingale, the Owl, and the Cuckow

A Tale

SHAKSPEARE, an Epiftle
Epiftle to CHURCHILL

to J. B. Efq

to the fame

Το

**** about to publish some Miscellanies
Familiar Epifle to GEORGE COLMAN, Efq.

To OBLIVION.

Ode I.

II.

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