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Reclin'd upon a bank of moss, Which go]don butter-cups emboss,
And violets stud profusely ; Beside the trout-enliven'd Stour, With Pope's dear verse I charm the hour,
Iu pensive ease reclusely.
Poor Dash alone, my old ally, Sits in profound demurness nigh,
O'er watching every page ; And wondering much, as much he may, What case can thus, the summer day,
His master's care engage.
But should Amanda seek the brook, With sprotive line and specious hook,
To tempt the finny race ; At once I quit the charming lays, On her beguiling eyes to gaze,
And soft dissembling face.
She with her treacherous smile serene, Her sly placidity of mien,
And those bewitching eyes ; Throws out the line with finest art, Wore bent to catch a foolish heart,
Thau seize a wat'ry prize.