Classic Poem

Let Tears no more lament the Dead in vain,
For see! our easy Prior lives again.
These genuine Lines the gentle Bard reveal,
And paint that Nature he alone could feel:
With tender Accents touch the soft'ning Soul,
Or gaily mock the Philosophic Fool.

W HEN Turturella tells her piteous Moan,
Who does not make the Mourner's Grief his own?
How ravishingly sweet the Numbers move,
And breathe the dying Agonies of Love!
Such sympathizing Tenderness impart,
They melt the Reader's to a Lover's Heart.

B UT while th' inimitable Bard displays,
The wanton Sparrow in gallanter Lays;
The Marriage State is image'd to the Life,
The careless Husband and the peeyish Wife;
The Troubles of the fet lock'd Couple shew,
And either Sex is open'd to the View.

T HUS sung delightful Matt — but sings no more,
Long since lamented on the lonesome Shore;
Pensive for Him in vain my Voice essays,
To court T HALIA to her Poet's Praise;
Like Turturella she neglects her Charms,
Despairing of another P RIOR'S Arms:
Alike their Tenderness, alike their Woe,
For what Columbo was, is Prior now:
Time's Period past — He shall for ever live,
And like these Labours by his Death revive.