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ON THE DEATH
MRS. (now LADY) THROCKMORTON'S
YE nymphs ! if e'er your eyes were red
O share Maria's grief!
Assassin'd by a thief.
Where Rhenus strays his vines among,
And, though by nature mute,
Of flagelet or flute.
The honours of his ebon poll
His bosom of the hue
To sweep away the dew.
214 LADY THROCKMORTON'S BULFINCH.
Above, below, in all the house,
No cat had leave to dwell;
Large-built and lattic'd well.
Well-lattic'd-but the grate, alas!
For Bully’s plumage sake,
The swains their baskets make.
Night veil'd the pole, all seemd secure :
Subsistence to provide,
And badger-colour'd hide.
He, ent’ring at the study door,
And something in the wind
Food chiefly for the mind.
Just then, by adverse fate impress'd,
In sleep he seem'd to view
LADY THROCKMORTON'S BULFINCH. 215
A rat fast clinging to the cage,
Awoke and found it true.
For, aided both by ear and scent,
Ah, muse! forbear to speak
He left poor Bully's beak.
O had he made that too his
Of such mellifluous tone,
Fast stuck within his own.
Maria weeps the Muses mourn
On Thracian Hebrus’ side
The cruel death he died.
THE Rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a show'r
Which Mary to Anna convey'd,
And weigh'd down its beautiful head.
And it seem'd to a fanciful view,
On the flourishing bush where it grew. hastily seiz'd it, unfit as it was
For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd,
I snapp'd it, it fell to the ground.
Some act by the delicate mind,
Already to sorrow resign'd.
Might have bloom'd with its owner a while ;
May be follow'd perhaps by a smile.
Man yet mistakes his way,
And heard the voice of love;
No time shall disengage,
And constancy sincere,
Shall ne'er be felt by me,