( I )
By Roger, the Obſervator's Country-man.
THE Ruſtick Muſe thus having chang'd the Scene,
From Kent to Court, to Kneel before the Queen,
Thus proſtrate falls, ſo many Queens to meet,
And lays her Oaken Towel at your Feet :
She boaſts no Wit, and therefore dare not riſe,
But by the Influence of your brighter Eyes ;
The Happy Muſes Fate may be her own
To be ſcorch'd dry beneath the Torrid Zone,
As Owls are dazled by the glaring Sun.
Ah Home-ſpun Suit your faithful Roger wears,
But us'd ſo long, it Thread-bare now appears,
Tho't hangs on yet, as you may ſee his Ears.
Thanks to the Cauſe, for his induſtrious Care,
To merit Graces from the Good and Fair ;
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