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E P IS TO L A VII.
UINQUE dies tibi pollicitus me rure fu-
Non, quo pare pyris vesci Calaber. jubet hofpes,
E P I S T L E
Imitated in the Manner of Dr SWIFT,
IS true, my Lord, I gave my word,
I would be with you, June the third ;
1ο And what a dust in every place? And a thin Court that wants your Face, And Fevers raging up and down, And W* and H** both in town!
“ The Dog-days are no more the case.” 15 'Tis true, but Winter comes apace : Then southward let your Bard retire, Hold out some months 'twixt Sun and Fire, And you
shall see the first warm Weather, Me and the Butterflies together.
20 My Lord, your Favours well I know; 'Tis with Distinction you bestow; And not to ev'ry one that comes, Just as a Scotsman does his Plumbs.
Pray take them, Sir,-Enough's a Feast: 25 “ Eat fome and pocket up the rest IB 2
Tam teneor dono, quam fi dimittar onustus.
laude merèntic.. Quod fi me noles ufquam discedere; reddes Forte latus, nigros angusta fronte capillos : Reddes dulce loqui : reddes ridere decorum, et Inter vina fugam Cynaraė moerere protervae.
Forte per anguftam tenuis vulpecula rimam Repserat in cumeram frumenti; paftaque, rursus Ire foras pleno tendebat corpore frustra.
What rob your Boys ? those pretty rogues
Now this I'll say, you'll find in me
A Weasel once made shift to link
Ver. 51. As when Belinday 1 compliment he pays himself and the public on his Rape of the Look.