Ye idler things, that soothed my hours of care,
Where would ye wander, triflers, tell me where?
As maids neglected, do ye fondly dote
On the fair type, or the embroider'd coat;
Detest my modest shelf, and long to fly,
Where princely Popes and mighty Miltons lie?
Taught but to sing, and that in simple style,
Of Lycia's lip, and Musidora's smile,
Go, then! and taste a yet unfelt distress,
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