Nor, with the rhombus' rumbling roll,

Inconftant Luna's courfe controll;

Nor vain | Dictaan herbage crop

Along the lofty Ida's top;

For NOTHING's lenient aid, be sure,

The pining lover's wounds can cure;
Or, if by Charon ferry'd o'er,

Can fetch him from the Stygian fhore.
NOTHING has influence, Sir, to rule

The grifly Pluto's ruthlefs foul;

To curb the rigid Sifters three,

And ftem the force of destiny.

Stretch'd on the fam'd § Phlegræa's field,

And taught by mightier pow'r to yield,

The

A kind of rolling inftrument, which was used in incantations.

The herb Dictamnum, famous for its medicinal virtues.

The plains of Phlegræa are noted for the battle faid to be fought there, between the giants and the gods.

NOTHING has greater excellence.

In fine, let Jove his honours claim,

NOTHING can boast a higher name.

But hold! no more the theme prolong, 'Tis time to end a filly fong;

No more of NOTHING, mufe, rehearse,

In this thy good for NOTHING verfe,

Left, after all, a theme fo light,

Should NOTHING but difguft excite.

FIDICINIS ET PHILOMELE CERTAMEN.

BY STRAD A.

Ow Sol, defcending from his mid-day blaze,

Now

With mild effulgence fhot his golden rays;
When Strephon took his lyre to footh his care,
And pour'd its mufic through the filent air,
Where Tiber's ftreams in pleafing murmurs flow,

And the broad holm-oaks cool the vale below.
His ftrains the jealous Philomela move,

The sweetest Syren of the neighb'ring grove.
Behind the verdant fpray fhe hears unfeen,
And, envious, echos each melodious ftrain.
Keen emulation fwells her little throat,

To try her pow'rs, and warble note for note.
Strephon admir'd the songster's sweet effay,

And ftrove again to wake the vocal lay;

Now the full mufic of his lyre explores,

Or fhews, with flying hand, a master's pow'rs.

In vary'd strains the bird renews her song,
In many a labour'd trill it flows along.

Thus with responding zeal her skill she proves,
When o'er the ftrings the fwain his finger moves,
And careless feem'd his touch, the mufic flow;
Its fimple founds in even tenor flow.

Inftant the chords his hurrying finger plies,
The quicken'd tones in rapid movement rife.
He ftops responsive to each note fhe fings;
With equal pow'rs fhe imitates his strings.
As one perplex'd, what other ftrain to chufe,
One plain, unvary'd tune the bird pursues ;
No quaver mixes in her artless note,

Free, like the current, iffuing from her throat.

Now

Now quick and light the warbled numbers move
In trembling echos, through the vocal grove.

This Strephon heard, in transports of amaze,

That such a throat fhould utter ftrains like thefe ;

Again new efforts of his art he tries,

Through all the fcale of founds his finger flies;

In concord bids the fhrill and bafs unite;

So the loud clarion fires the foul to fight.

Again the Syren fings: and, whilft her tongue

In well-tim'd warblings thrills through all her fong,
To louder harmony fhe fwells the note,

Then rolls the deep'ning murmur in her throat;
Now thrill and clear her fong, now deep and low;
So clarions urge the foldier to the foe.

Strephon now blush'd, with glowing ire inflam'd,
"Or Philomel fhall yield," he quick exclaim'd,

"Or