AT noon, in a funfhiny day,

The brightest lady of the May,
Young Chloris, innocent and gay,
Sat knotting in a fhade.

Each flender finger play'd its part,
With fuch activity and art,

As wou'd inflame a youthful heart,
And warm the most decay'd.

Her fav'rite swain by chance came by,
He faw no anger in her eye;

Yet when the bashful boy drew nigh,
She wou'd have feem'd afraid.

She let her ivory needle fall,
And hurl'd away the twisted ball:
But ftreight gave Strepbon fuch a call,
As wou'd have rais'd the dead.

Dear gentle youth, is't none but thee?
With innocence I dare be free;
By fo much truth and modesty,
No nymph was e'er betray'd.

Come lean thy head upon my lap;
While thy smooth cheeks I stroke and clap,

Thou may'ft fecurely take a nap:

Which he, poor fool, obey'd,

She

She faw him yawn, and heard him fnore,
And found him fast asleep all o'er :
She figh'd, and cou'd endure no more,
But, starting up, she faid,

Such virtue fhall rewarded be;
For this thy dull fidelity,

I'll truft thee with my flocks, not me:
Pursue thy grazing trade.

Go, milk thy goats, and fhear thy fheep,
And watch all night thy flocks to keep;
Thou shalt no more be lull'd asleep,
By me, mistaken maid.

YOUNG Cupid one day, wilely,

With well diffembled art,

Let fly an arrow flily,

B

ELINDA's pride's an errant cheat,
A foolish artifice to blind;

Some honest glance, that fcorns deceit,
Does ftill reveal her native Mind.

With look demure, and forc'd difdain,

She idly acts the faint;

We fee thro' this disguise, as plain
As we distinguish paint.

The pains fhe takes are vainly meant
To hide her am'rous heart ;.
"Tis like perfuming an ill feent;
The fmell's too strong for art..

So have I feen grave fools defign,
With formal looks, to pafs for wife
But, nature is a light will shine,
And break thro' all disguise..

on

Y

On a Gentleman's fitting upon a
Lady's Cremona Fiddle.

E lads and ye laffes that live at Longleat, Where, they fay, there's no end of good drink (and good meat, Where the poor fill their bellies, the rich receive hoSo great and fo good is the lord of the manour, (nour;

Ye nymphs, and ye swains, that inhabit the place, Give ear to my fong of a fiddle's hard cafe; For it is of a fiddle, a sweet fiddle I fing, A fofter and sweeter did never wear string.}

Melpomene, lend me the aid of thy art, Whilft I the fad fate of this fiddle impart; For never had fiddle a fortune fo bad; Which shows the best things the worst fortune have

(had.

This fiddle of fiddles, when it came to be try'd, Was as fweet as a lark, and as foft as a bride; This fiddle to fee, and its musick to hear, Gave delight to the eye, while it ravish'd the ear.

But first I must fing of this fiddle's country, 'Twas born and 'twas bred in fair Italy;

In a town where a marshal of France had the hap, (Fortune de la guerre) to be caught in a trap.

And now, having fung of this fiddle's high birth, I fhou'd fing of the fingers which made so much mirth; But fingers fo ftrait, so swift, and so small,

Shou'd be fung by a poet, or not fung at all.

Tho' I am, god wot, but a poor country swain, And cannon indite in so lofty a strain ;

So all I can fay is to tell you once more,

Such hands and fuch fingers were ne'er feen before.

Having fung of the fingers and fiddle, I trow,
You'll hold it but meet I shou'd fing of the bow;
The bow it was ebon, whofe virtue was such,
It wounded your heart, if your ear it did touch.

(a while;

Cupid fain wou'd have chang'd with this bow for To which the coy nymph thus reply'd with a smile, My bow is far better than your's, I'll appeal; Your's only can kill, mine can both kill and heal,

This fiddle and bow, and its musick together, Wou'd make heavy hearts as light as a feather: But, alas! when I fhall its catastrophe fing, Your heart it will bleed, and your hands you will ring.

This fiddle was laid on a soft eafy chair,

Taking all for its friends its fweet mufick did hear;
When freight there came in a huge mafculine bum,
I wish the de'el had it to make him a drum.

Now