Henry also pursues the maid si

With every soothing art :
Richard has pelf, a thriving trade,

Henry an honeft heart.
Were you in lovely Susan's place,

Say, which would you approve,
With Richard gold and cares to wed,..

With Henry only love.
From what's below the age of each you'll find;

That done, your judgment give, to quiet Sufan's mind.

: * x3y – xy=983040. .

· x4+xy* =3481600, Where x is Richard's age, and y is Henry's. N. B. The above question is proposed by Mr. James Wil. fon, schoolmatter, in the Ladies Diary for the present year ; but an answer may appear in the Weekly Entertainer long before it can in the next year's Diary,

An ENIGMA, by J. Hodge, of Wells,
N various shapes I'm often seen,

And sometimes undergo
(With obligation) various taks,

Without or pain or woe. -
A nearer access to the fair

I can at pleasure gain,
Than all those powder'a beaux and fops

That melt at love's soft strain.

Me without blushing they'll admit,

Those balmy sweets to fip,
Which, like Arabia's choicest fruits,

Flow from each beauteous lip,
But when array'd in other robes

I the fair sex attend ;
Though dress'd a thousand times more spruce,

Me from their fight they'll fend,
More honoured I ought to be
Than princes of the land,


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tit a correspondent would be glad if some judicious writer would send an Elay on Suicide to the printer, in order that it may appear in the Entertainer,

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An O DE 10 M A Y.
TAIREST daughter of the day,

I Lovely goddess, sprightly MÁY,
Hither come, with roses crown'd,
Painting, where you tread, the ground:
At the lov'd approach of thee. .
Shoots the mulb'ry, timorous tree;
Vines their tender leaves unfold,
Nor the fig-tree dreads the cold
Now the flow'ry lote is seen;"
Now the stately oak is green. : ::
Nymph divine, behold the flow'rs
Rise to grace thy vernal hours ; i
Woodbines spangled o'er with dew,
Deck their arborets for you ; *
Th' anemony of various dye,
Who, when either wind is nigh,
Hides her ever gentle face,
Opens to thy soft embrace.
See the purple Iris blow,
Tinged by th' wat'ry bow; '
Tulips rear their glitt'ring heads;
Pinks adorn the fragrant beds ;
And for thee the lilies swell,
And the golden asphodel.

Goddess, with thy vest of green,
Goddess, with thy youthful mien,
Come, and bring thy mines of wealth,
Gladness, and her parent health;

Bring along thy virgin train ; . ..
Chase away grim care and pain.
Now che loves and graces all .
Throng obedient to thy call.
See where summer scenes arise,
To delight th' admiring eyes ;
And beneath the painter's hand
Blooms afreth th’inchanted land.


AUGHTER of heav'n! Aurora rise,
D Thy chearing courfe to run ;.
With lustre crimson o'er the skies,

And usher in the sun.

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Come, morning, come, which hear'n defiga'd

Its choicest gifts to hear,
And kindly teach the human mind .

To worship and revere.

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DENSIVE I lay, e'en from the dead of night,

Until the sun his daily course began, Reflecting on the candle's wasting light,

And moraliz'd the fate of mortal man,

White and unfully'd was the cotton wick,

When from the chandler first to me it came; Behold how black! the greasy drops how thick!

Such colour takes it from imparted flame.

Such is the youth, of manners ftri&t and pure,

Till, led by vice, he quits his reason's guide ; . By flatt'ry drawn, he stoops to vice's lure,

And from the path of reason wanders wide.

The fool who sells his freedom for a smile,

Or for a ribband barters peace of mind, Like wafting wicks just glimmers for a while,

Then dies in smoke, and leaves a stink behind,

The many perils that ambition wait

(When soaring high we still the lower fall) Are but the snuffers of expiring light,

And death’s the grand extinguither of all.


ON LIFE. AN, by neceflity compell?d, must go IV O’er rocks of peril, and through vales of woe. Man with the morn begins his deftin'd race, Joy in his eye, and pleasure in his face ; But, oh! what rubs attend his secting days, His finews slacken, and his sense decays; His limbs fore ake, with hourly coil oppressid, Till wish'd for night restores him peaceful rest.

Thus man for ever labours and decays,
Counting but few, and those unhappy days;
He scarce a minute glories in his bloom,
So harsh is death's inexorable doom,
So nigh, alas! the cradle to the tomb.

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