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YE Couples who meet under love's smiling star,
Too gentle to skirinish, too soft e'en to jar;
Tho' cover'd with roses from joys richest tree,
Near the couch of delight lurks the devil Ennui.

Let the muse's gay lyre, like Ithuriel's bright spear, Keep this fiend, ye sweet brides, from approaching your ear,

Since you know this squat toad an infernal Esprit,
Never listen, like Eve, to this devil Ennui.

Let no gloom of your hall, let no shade of your bower, Make you think you behold this malevolent power; Like a child in the dark what fear you will see, Take courage, away-'tis the phantom Ennui.


O trust me, your powers both of person and mind, To defend from this foe full sufficient you'll find, Should your eyes fail to kill him, with keen repartee You can sink the flat boat of the invader Ennui.

If a cool nonchalance o'er your spouses should spread, (For vapours will rest e'en on Jupiter's head) O! ever believe it from jealousy free,

A thin passing cloud-not the mist of Ennui.

Of tender complainings, tho' love be the theme,

O' beware, my sweet friends, 'tis a dangerous scheme, And tho' often 'tis tried, mark pauvre Mari,

These by kindness inclos'd in the coop of Ennui.

Let confidence, rising such terrors above,
Drown the discord of doubt in the music of love,
Your duet shall thus charm, in the natural key,
No sharps from vexation, no flats from Ennui.

But to your happy husbands, in matters more nice,
The muse, tho' a maiden, yet offers advice,
O drink not too deeply your bumpers of glee,
Even ecstasy's cup hath some dregs of Ennui.

Though love for your lips fills with nectar his bowl,
Tho' his morn bath of bliss shall inspirit your soul,
O swim not too far upon rapture's high sea,
Lest you sink unawares in the gulph of Ennui.

Impatient of law, passion oft will reply,
Against limitation I'll plead till I die,
But chief justice Nature rejects the vain plea,
And such culprits are doom'd to the jail of Ennui.

When husband and wife are honey too fond,
They are like poison'd carp at the top of a pond,
Together they gape o'er a cold dish of tea,
Two muddy sick fish in the net of Ennui.

Of indolence most, ye mild couples, beware,
For the myrtles of love often hide the soft snare;
The fond doves in their nests from his pow'r cannot

But the lark in the morn 'scapes the vulture Ennui.

Let cheerful good humour, that sunshine of life,
Which smil'd in the maiden, illumine the wife;
And mutual attention, in equal degree,
Keep Hymen's bright chain from the rust of Ennui.

To the graces together both fail not to bend,
And both to the voice of the muses attend,
So Minerva for you shall with Cupid agree,
And preserve your chaste flame from the smoke of




WHILST you, fair virgin! Heaven alone pursue, My thoughts are fix'd on equal heaven in you; But why such beauty and, such rigour join'd? Ne'er for a cloister was that face design'd;

To bless, not curse, some happy man 'twas givenThen smile, and answer the decrees of heaven.

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STILL, Red-breast, o'er the tuneful dead,

That sweetly-soothing dirge prolong; For his, who owns this earthy bed, His was as sad, as sweet a song!

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Unhappy Bard! the scene is past;

At length thy mortal struggle's o'er : But, oh! with that untimely blast, Thy raptur'd strains are heard no more.

Beside the turf that wraps thy clay,

Shall kindred mem'ry fondly wake, And, spite of all thy foes can say,

Shall love thee for the Muse's sake..

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O! take from one, who knows to scan
The ardent soul, the dark career,

Who feels for erring, wretched man,

O! take this tributary tear,

Here, where no more rude cares molest, But earth's sad sufferers calmly sleep;

Here, where the weary are at rest,
Shall Genius oft her vigils keep.

And Pity, with a beaming eye,
Forgot the faults that laid thee low,
O'er thy cold grave shall deeply sigh,
And mourn thy pilgrimage of woe.

Still, Red-breast, o'er the tuneful dead,

That sweetly-soothing dirge prolong;
For his, who owns this earthy bed,
His was as sad, as sweet a song!



MUSE of the mournful song, whose pensive smile
Has faintly gleam'd o'er many a wintry hour,
Wilt thou a truant votary's woes beguile,
Nor let me vainly court thy soothing power?

What if, encircled by the flaunting wreath,

By fickle Pleasure's rosy fingers wove, Jocund I hail'd the morning's scented breath, Or with gay footsteps trod the mazy grove?

What if, unheedful of thy precepts mild,

The winged hours in joy's light revels flew, I gaz'd on bright-ey'd Fancy as she smil❜d,

And bless'd the scenes Hope's fairy pencil drew?

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