Argutæ nunc stridet anûs argutulus instar; • Respicit, et nebulo es, quisquis es, inquit anus. Quando fuit melior tyro, meliorvé magistra!

Quando duo ingeniis tam coiêre pares ! Ardua discenti nulla est, res nulla docenti

Ardua; cum doceat fæmina, discat avis.



In painted plumes superbly dress'd,
A native of the gorgeous east,

By many a billow toss'd;
Poll gains at length the British shore,
Part of the captain's precious store,

A present to his toast.

Belinda's maids are soon preferr'd,
To teach him now and then a word,

As Poll can master it;

But 'tis her own important charge,
To qualify him more at large,

And make him quite a wit.

Sweet Poll! his doating mistress cries, Sweet Poll! the mimic bird replies,

And calls aloud for sack. She next instructs bim in the kiss; 'Tis now a little one, like Miss;

And now a hearty smack.

At first be aims at what he hears;
And, listening close with both his ears,

Just catches at the sound:
But soon articulates aloud,
Much to the amusement of the crowd,

And stuns the neighbours round.

A querulous old woman's voice
His humorous talent next employs,

He scolds and gives the lie.

And now he sings, and now is sick,
Here Sally, Susan, come, come quick,

Poor Poll is like to die!

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Belinda and her bird ! 'tis rare
To meet with such a well-match'd pair,

The language and the tone, ;
Each character in every part
Sustain’d with so much grace and art,

And both in unison.

When children first begin to spell,
And stammer out a syllable,

We think them tedious creatures;.
But difficulties soon abate,
When birds are to be taught to prate,

And women are the teachers.



MERCATOR, vigiles oculos ut fallere possit,

Nomine sub ficto trans mare mittit opes; Lené sonat liquidumque meis Euphelia chordis,

Sed solam exoptant te, mea vota, Chlöe.

Ad speculum ornabat nitidos Euphelia crines,

Cum dixit mea lux, heus, cane, sume lyram. Namque lyram juxtà positam cum carmine vidit,

Suave quidem carmen dulcisonamque lyram.

Fila lyræ vocemque paro, suspiria surgunt,

Et miscent numeris murmura mæsta meis, Dumque tuæ memoro laudes, Euphelia, formæ,

Tota anima intereà pendet ab ore Chlöes.

Subrubet illa pudore, et contrahit altera frontem,

Me torquet mea mens conscia, psallo, fremo; Atque Cupidineâ dixit Dea cincta coronâ,

Heu! fallendi artem quam didicere parum.

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