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G. W. SENIOR,*
TO THE AUTHOR.
DARKE is the day, when Phoebus face is shrouded,
The time, like night, depriv'd of chearfull day;
AH! Colin, whether on the lowly plaine,
"Perhaps George Whetstone, a poetaster and dramatic writer, in
the reign of Elizabeth." -TODD.
Or whether, in thy lovely Mistresse praise,
Thou list to exercise thy learned quill;
Thy Muse hath got such grace and power to please,
As who therein can ever ioy their fill!
To clime the height of Vertues sacred hill,
Where endlesse honour shall be made thy meed:
Can rase those records of thy lasting praise.
G. W. JUNR.