SONNET. 

 For the Bee. 

 O SAY Maria ! why is gentle love 



A stranger to thy mind ? 

 Which pity and esteem can move, 

 Which can be just and kind. 



Is it because you fear to fhare 



The ills that love molest? 

 The zealous doubt, and tender care. 



That racks my am'rous breast? 



Alas! by some degree of woe, 



We ev'ry blifs must gain-^ 

 That heart can ne'er a transport know, 



That never felt a pain. Enon. 



FOR. THE NONSENSICAL CLUE. 

 Fnr the Bee. 

 All wfclmsical people come hither. 



And choose a nonsensical strain; 

 For wrho'd be a wit in hot weather, 

 T' endanger tiie lofs of his brain. 



'Tis nonsense we sing, and we deal in, 

 And gen'rously deal it abour ; 



And if common sense chance thojld steal in 

 We kick the precise rascal out. 



Whereof, forasmuch, notwltlistanding, 

 Moreover, to wit, further more j 



Sure never were words so cominancUng, 

 So sweetly adapted before. 



Th»s free from restraint, in we rattle, 

 Inslav'd by no precepts vr rules, 



Whilst those who in form prittle prattle, 

 Are nothing but sensible fools. 



Should nonsense from human kind sever. 

 What numbers must straight away ru.i, 



TI.e beau pick his teeth must for ever. 

 The chatt'ring coquette be undone. 



VOL. XJ. A A f 



