'Twould tempt the dying anchorite

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re you could ask
Their name and agewere gone yilai:
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shiveringunderhisrags.
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So weak poor Cloe's nets were wove
Thatthough she charm'd into them
New game each hourthe youngest Love
Was able to break through them.
Comelistenmaidsetc.
Meanwhileyoung Suewhose cage was wrought
Of bars too strong to sever
One love with golden pinions caught
And caged him there forever;
Instructing therebyall coquettes
Whate'er their looks or ages
Thatthough 'tis pleasant weaving Nets
'Tis wiser to make Cages.
Thusmaidensthus do I beguile
The task your fingers ply--
May all who hearlike Susan smile
Ah yilai:
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Handcuffs! not like Cloe sigh!
28
SALAD.
SYDNEY SMITH.
To make this condimentyour poet begs
The pounded yellow of two hard-boiled eggs;
Two boiled potatoespassed through kitchen-sieve
Smoothness and softness to the salad give;
Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl
Andhalf-suspectedanimate the whole.
Of mordant mustard add a single spoon
Distrust the condiment that bites so soon;
But deem it notthou man of herbsa fault
To add a double quantity of salt.
Andlastlyo'er the flavored compound toss
A magic soup-spoon of anchovy sauce.
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but I am afraid of!
'Twould tempt the dying anchorite