AN ELDERLY LADY.
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Ye Nymphs whom starry rays invest,By flattering poets given,Who shine, by lavish lovers dress'd,In all the pomp of Heaven. 2 Engross not all the beams on high,Which gild a lover's lays,But, as your sister of the sky,Let Lycè share the praise. 3 Her silver locks display the moon,Her brows a cloudy show,Striped rainbows round her eyes are seen,And showers from either flow. 4 Her teeth the night with darkness dyes;She's starr'd with pimples o'er;Her tongue like nimble lightning plies,And can with thunder roar, 5 But some Zelinda, while I sing,Denies my Lycè shines;And all the pens of Cupid's wingAttack my gentle lines. 6 Yet, spite of fair Zelinda's eye,And all her bards express,My Lycè makes as good a sky,And I but flatter less. * * * * * ON THE DEATH OF MR ROBERT LEVETT,
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