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BURNING OF LORD MANSFIELD'S
TOGETHER WITH HIS MSS.,
BY THE MOB IN THE MONTH OF JUNE, 1780,
Sworn foes to sense and law,
Than ever Roman saw!
a treasure more,
The loss was his alone;
The burning of his own.
ON THE SAME.
In all devouring flame,
They felt the rude alarm, Yet bless'd the guardian care, that kept His sacred head from harm.
III. There Mem'ry, like the bee, that's fed
From Flora's balmy store, The quintessence of all he read Had treasur'd up
Have done him cruel wrong;
The honey on his tongue.
LOVE OF THE WORLD REPROVED;
Thus says the prophet of the Turk,
It may be proper to inform the reader, that this piece has already appeared in print, having found it's way, though with some unnecessary additions by an unknown hand, into the Leeds Journal, without the author's privity.
Much controversy straight arose,
You laugh—’tis well—The tale applied
MRS. (NOW LADY) THROCKMORTON'S
Ye nymphs! if e'er your eyes were red With tears o'er hapless fav’rites shed,
O share Maria’s grief! Her fav’rite, even in his cage, (What will not hunger's cruel rage?)
Assassin'd by a thief.
Where Rhenus strays his vines among, The egg was laid from which he sprung;
And, though by nature mute, Or only with a whistle blest, Well-taught he all the sounds express'd
Of flagelet or flute.