Viewing page 13 of 96

This transcription has been completed. Contact us with corrections.

Here's something perhaps will amuse,
Perhaps will beguile a dull hour,
And if so then do not refuse
The good that is now in your power.
Oh dulness! thou foe of all bliss
Go dwell with the hermit and sage.
Be banished from circles like this.
And seek out your own native cave.
And critics what are you to me,
Your rage you may here vent in vain,
Tis Byron and Scott that you see,
And others as dear too to fame.
You know that the earth yields its fruits,
And man ever culls out the best
So here of all authors that suit,
We take and put by all the rest.
A song sung by Phillips you"ll find,
The words they are taken from Moore,
An essay perhaps on the mind,
And then to the girl I adore. 
And Hymon oft makes a fair speech,
The lover too heaves a deep sigh,
Their joys are peculiar to each,
Their pains none can tell till they fly.