The Harp of Erin | ||
J. SCALIGER'S EPIGRAM On the sonnets of Petrarch.
IMITATED.
Petrarch! how bright a flame illum'd thy breast!Unrival'd wit in smoothest numbers drest.
Nor the sweet Muse, nor yet the maid belov'd,
Were coy, but both alike thy suit approv'd;
Methinks, while I peruse the charming strain,
Apollo wooes his Daphne o'er again.
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Old miser avails not in thy sad contrition;
To give thee some zest with thy ill-gotten store,
Then pri'thee, lean penitent, learn division.
The Harp of Erin | ||