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The E—l of G—d—n to Dct—r
G—th, upon the loſs of Miſs Dingle :
In return to the D
ct—r's Conſola-
tory Verſes to Him, upon the loſs of
his Rod.

THOU, who the Pangs of my embitter'd Rage
Coud'ſt, with thy never-dying Verſe, aſſwage ;
Immortal Verſe, ſecure to live as long
As that curs'd Proſe that did Condemn thy Song :
Thou, happy Bard, whoſe double-gifted Pen,
Alike can Cure an aking Corn,or Spleen ;
Whoſe lucky Hand adminiſters Repoſe
As well to breaking Heart, as broken Noſe ;
Accept this Tribute : Think it all I had,
In Recompence of Thine, when I was Sad.

What tho' it comes from an unpractis'd Muſe,
Bad at the beſt, grown Worſe by long diſuſe ;
In Silence, loſt, ſince once I did complain
Of Wivl's cold Neglect in humble Strain ;
When check'd by ſlaviſh Conſcience, ſhe deny'd
To throw aſide the Niece, and act the Bride :
Yet ſure I may be thought among the Throng
If not to Sing, to Whiſtle out a Song :
Then take the kind Remembrance of my Verſe,
While Dingle's Loſs with Sorrow I rehearſe.

Dingle is loſt, the hollow Caves rebound,
Dingle is loſt, and multiply the Sound ;
'Till Eccho chaunting it by juſt Degree,
Shortens to Ding, then ſoftens it to D.

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