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POETRY.

ABBOT.

THE pamper'd Abbot too, eriei, he's a Saint
With daily Pray'rs and nightly Watchings faiut:
His florid Looks, his vain Pretence deny,
And his sleek Carcass gives his Boasts the Lye:
Soft Beds of Down his wanton Limbs infold,
In Gems he drinks, and eats on burnish'd Gold,
Luxurious Food devours with Priestly Gust,
While poinant Sauces keep alive his Lnst.
Last, Avarice aud Sloth, Revenge and Pride,
Are the blest Vinues of this Saintlike Guide. duetta
A B B Y.
Look with a curious Eye all Europe round,
And shew one rich, one healthy Spot of Ground,
But there fome Abby is, or else has been,
And there in Ruins their wise Choice is seen.
The Front of Heaven fome specious Tale will tell,
But the Buck-Gate still opens into Hell. U>idt

ABSENCE.
Absence to a Lover is fure Death,
His Soul is in her, and fo goes away.

Vol. 11. B Absence

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Absence is Hell, whence all true Joys are driven;
For in her Presence only is his Heaven.

Love reckons Hours for Months, and Days for Years. And ev'ry little Absence is an Age. Vryd. Amfhit.

The tedious Hours move heavily away, .

And each long Minute seems a lazy Day. Ot. Cai. Mar.

For thee the bubling Springs appear'd to mourn, And whisp'ring Pines made Vows for thy Return.

(Vryd.Virg.

When thylov'd Sight shall bless my Eyes again,** Then will I own I ought not to complain, ^

Since that sweet Hour is worth whole Years of PainJ

(Zaire's Tamer!.

I charge thee, loiter not, but haste to bless me; Think with what eager Hopes, what Rage I burn. For ev'ry tedious Minute how I mourn: Think how I call thee cruel for thy Stay, And break my Heart with Grief for thy unkind Delay.

(Rowe's Ulyf.

Fly swift, ye Hours, you meafure Time for me iri 'Till you bring back Leonidas again .* (vain,

Be swifter now, and to redeem that Wrong,.
When he and I are met, be twice as long.

(Vryd. Mar. A-la-modc.

While in divine Tanthea's charming Eyes
I view the naked Boy that basking lies,'
I grow a God ! fo blest, fo blest am I,
With facred Rapture and immortal Joy!

But, absent, if she shines no more^
And hides the Suns that I adore,
Strait, like a Wretch despairing, I
Sigh, languish in the Shade, and die.
Oh ! I were lost in endlesi Night,
If her bright Presence brought not LigHt;
Then I revive, blest as before:
The Gods themselves cannot be more! Rocb.
For Passion by long Absence does improve,
And makes that Rapture which before was Love. Sttf.

ADONIS.

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