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Alike the Bufy and the Gay

But flutter thro' life's little day.

In fortune's varying colours dreft :

Brush'd by the hand of rough Mischance,

Or chill'd by age, their airy dance

They leave, in dust to rest.

Methinks I hear in accents low

The sportive kind reply:

Poor moralift! and what art thou?

A folitary fly!

Thy Joys no glittering female meets,

No hive haft thou of hoarded fweets,

No painted plumage to display:

On hafty wings thy youth is flown :

Thy fun is fet, thy fpring is gone→→→

We frolick, while 'tis May.

-O DE

1

OD E

ON THE DEATH OF A

FAVOURITE CAT,

Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes.

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