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She next the stately Bull implor'd;
The Goat remark’d, “ her pulse was high, Her languid head, her heavy eye:” “ My back,” says he, “may do you harm; The Sheep's at hand, and wool is warm.”
The Sheep was feeble, and complain'd
She now the trotting Calf address’d, To save from death a friend distress'd.
“ Shall I,” says he,
of tender age, In this important care engage ? Older and abler pass'd you by ; How strong are those ! how weak am I! Should I presume to bear you hence, Those friends of mine may take offence. Excuse me, then; you know my heart ; But dearest friends, alas! must part. How shall we all lament! Adieu ; For see, the hounds are just in view"
ELEGY TO MISS DASHWOOD.
IN THE MANNER OF OVID.
By Mr. HAMMOND,
SAY, thou dear possessor of my breast, Where now's my boasted liberty and rest ! Where the gay moments that I once have known! O where that heart I fondly thought my own! From place to place I solitary roam, Abroad uneasy, not content at home. I scorn the beauties common eyes adore, The more I view them, feel thy worth the more: Unmov'd I hear them speak, or see them fair, And only think on thee,—who art not there. In vain would books their former succour lend, Nor wit, nor wisdom, can relieve their friend; Wit can't deceive the pain I now endure, And wisdom shows the ill without the cure.
When from thy sight I waste the tedious day,
And could I speak with elegance and ease, Till now not tedious of the art to please; Could I, at woman who so oft exclaim, Expose (nor blush) thy triumph and my shame; A bjure those maxims I so lately priz'd, And court that sex I foolishly despis’d; Own thou hast soften'd my obdurate mind, And thou reveng'd the wrongs of womankind : Lost were my words, and fruitless all my pain, In vain to tell thee, all I write in vain: My humble sighs shall only reach thy ears, And all my eloquence shall be my tears.
And now (for more I never must pretend)
But wisely choose who best deserves thy flame,