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—$$<$_____..__., 




Venus’s Looking Glass. 


FLATTERY. 
Nor think this flattery! I ’ve been taught 
One maxim worth receiving, 
Which every passing day has brought 
Fresh motive for believing : 






That flattery no excuse can find 
*L is loathed as soon as tasted, 


When offered to a well-taught mind ; 
And on a fool ’t is wasted. B. Barton. 














The love of praise, howe’er concealed by art, 
Reigns, more or less, and glows in every heart; 
The proud, to gain it, toils on toils endure ; 
The modest shun it but to make it sure. 

O’er globes and sceptres, now on thrones it swells, 
Now trims the midnight lamp in college cells. 
*Tis Tory, Whig! it plots, prays, , preaches, pleads ; 
Harangues in senates, squeaks in masquérades ; | 
Here, to S—e’s humor makes a bold pretence ; ; | 
There, bolder aims at Pult’ney’s eloquence. 
It aids the dancer’s heel, the writer’s head, 
} 

And heaps the plain with mountains of the dead. 
Nor ends with life ; but nods in sable plumes, 
Adorns our hearse, and flatters on our tombs. 
ag 


