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LOVE OF THE WORLD REPROVED;
Thus says the prophet of the Turk,
* It may be proper to inform the reader, that this piece has already appeared in print, having found it's way, though with some unnecessary additions by an unknown hand, into the Leeds Journal, without the author's privity.
Much controversy straight arose,
You laugh—'tis well-The tale applied
Mrs. (NOW LADY) THROCKMORTON'S
Ye nymphs! if e'er your eyes were red With tears o'er hapless fav’rites shed,
O share Maria's grief! Her fay’rite, even in his cage, (What will not hunger's cruel rage?).
Assassin'd by a thief.
Where Rhenus ys his vines among, The egg was laid from which he sprung;
And, though by nature mute, Or only with a whistle blest, Well-taught he all the sounds express'd
Of fagelet or flute.
The honours of his ebon poll
His bosom of the hue,
To sweep away the dew.
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 seem'd secure: When led by instinct sharp and sure,
Subsistence to provide,
254 , LADY THROCKMORTON'S BULFINCH.
A beast forth sallied on the scout,
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 impressid,
In sleep he seem'd to view
Awoke and found it true.
For, aided both by ear and scent,
Ah, muse! forbear to speak
He left poor Bully's beak.