236 VTJLGAEITT. 
And we, a mild cerulean fair,” 
A Blue-bottle replies, 
‘4 Though less conspicuous, proudly wear 
The livery of the skies. 
From Switzerland’s romantic heights. 
Sprung our exotic race. 
Who now this gentle soil delights, 
Who British gardens grace. 
‘4 Let Roses still in hackneyed strain. 
With Celia’s Lilies blend. 
To blue-eyed Marian’s sighing swain. 
Our tints new flatteries lend. 
<4 While clowns, those tasteless sons of gain. 
Contemn the painted meads. 
On profits bent, our charms disdain. 
And scoffing call us Weeds. 
44 Amid the blades that glittered round. 
One loftier than the rest. 
With four-fold spiky honors crowned. 
The motley throng addressed. 
