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AS when Camilla once, a warlike dame,
In bloody battles won immortal fame,
Around the field, and such vast numbers flew,
Still greater praife is yours; Camilla fhines
Nor need you to another's bounty owe,
Who thy perfections fully would commend, Must think how others their vain hours mifpend, 20 In trifling visits, pride, impertinence,
Drefs, dancing, and discourse devoid of sense;
To twirl a fan, to please some foolish beau,
Sing boldly then, nor bufy cenfure fear,
Your virgin voice offends no virgin ́ear.
Proceed, in tragic numbers to disclose
Heaven's judgments, and declare a Providence; 45
Accept this tribute, madam, and excufe The hafty raptures of a stranger Muse.
N Nature's golden age, when new-born day
Array'd the skies, and earth was green and gay; When God, with pleasure, all his works furvey'd, And virgin innocence before him play'd; In that illuftrious morn, that lovely spring, The Muse, by Heaven inspir'd, began to fing. Defcending Angels, in harmonious lays, Taught the first happy pair their Maker's praise. Such was the facred art-We now deplore The Mufe's lofs, fince Eden is no more. When Vice from hell rear'd up its hydra-head, Th' affrighted maid, with chaste Aftræa, fled, And fought protection in her native sky;
In vain the heathen Nine her abfence would fupply.
rapturous ode, whose ardent lay Sings female force, and vanquish'd Sifera ;
She tun'd to pious notes the pfalmift's lyre,
And fill'd Ifaiah's breaft with more than Pindar's fire!
WRITTEN FOR THE LATE DUKE OF GLOUCESTER'S BIRTH-DAY.
The God of battles held,
And footh'd him with her tender charms,
Victorious from the field;
By chance the cast a lovely smile,
Propitious, down to earth,
And view'd in Britain's happy ifle
Great Gloucefter's glorious birth.
Look, Mars, the faid; look down, and fee
A child of royal race!
Let's crown the bright Nativity
With every princely grace :
Thy heavenly image let me bear,
And fhine a Mars below;
From you his mind to warlike care,
Thus at his birth two deities
Their bleffings did impart;
And love was breath'd into his eyes,
The fair; who burn'd with equal flame
FINELY CUT IN VELLUM
BY MOLIND A.
WHEN Fancy did Molinda's hand invite, Without the help of colour, shade, or light,
To form in vellum, spotlefs as her mind,
The fairest image of the feather'd kind,
Nature herself a strict attendance paid,
Charm'd with th' attainments of th' illustrious maid,
So to her favourite Titian once she came,