Wherefore if men inclined are to look, Perhaps their graver fancies may be took With what is here, though but in homely rhymes : But be who pleases all must rise betimes. Some, I persuade me, will be finding fault, Concluding here I trip and there I halt: No doubt some could these groveliing notions raisa By fine spun terms that challenge might the bays. Should all be forced to lay their brains aside 'I hat cannot regulate the lowing tide By this or that man's fancy, we should have The wise unto the fool hecoines a slave. What though mv text seems mean, my morals de Grave qe if fetched from a sublimer tree. And if some better handle can a fly, Than some a text, wherefore should we deny Their making proof, or good experiment, Of smallest things, great mischiefs to prevent?

Wise Solomon did fools to pismires send,
To lenrn true wisdom, and their lives to mend.
Yea God, by swallows, cuckoos, and the ass,
Shews they are fools who let that season pass
Which he put in their hand, that to obtain
Which is both present and eternal gain.

I think the wiser sort my rhyme may slight, While I peruse them, fools will take delight. Then what care I? The foolish, God has chose; And doth by foolish tbings their minds compose, And setile upon that which is divine : Great things hy little ones are made to shine.

I could, were I so pleased, use higher strains : And for applausc on tenters stretch iry brains ;

But what needs that? The arrow out of sight
Does not the sleeper, nor the watchmen fright;
To shoot too high doth make but children gaze,
"Tis that which bits the man doth him amaze.

As for the inconsiderabl·ness
Of things, by which I do my mind express :
May I by them bring some good things to pass,
As Sampson, with the jaw-bune of an ass ;
Or as brave Shangar, with his ox's guad,
(Both things unnanly, not tor war in mosle ;)
I have my end, though I myself expose :
For Gou will neve the glory at the closc.

J. B.

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WHAT! barren here, in this so good a soil!
The sight of this doth make God's heart recoil
From giving thee his blessing; barren tree,
Bear fruit, or else thy end will cursed be!

Art thou not planted by the water-side ?
Knowest not the Lord by fruit is glorified?
The sentence is, Cut down the barren tree;
Bear fruit, or else thy end will cursed be!

Thou hast been digg'd about, and dunged ton,
Will neither patience, nor yet dressing do?
The executioner is come, O tree !
Bear fruit, or else thy end will cursed be !

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He that about thy roots takes pains to dig
Would, if on thee were found but one gova Fig,
Preserve thee from the axe; but, barren tree,
Bear fruit, or else thy end will cursed be!

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