REE from the tumults and the noife,

FRE

Which haunt the busy town;

Serene delights, and quiet joys,

Our sweet retirements crown.

Whilft others minds are rack'd with care,
Or clogg'd with chains of love,
Our thoughts are free, and clear as air,
That fans the neighbouring grove.

We laugh at all the little arts

Of Venus and her trifling boy, Nor can that idle god of hearts The foft repose of ours deftroy

Secure within our cage we lie,

And sweetly pass the hours away; Whilft birds and maids, that loosely fly, To hawks and men become a prey.

FOOLISH

OOL

LISH women, fly mens charms,
Fly their cringing, fly their arms;
For fhou'd you by chance comply,
'Tis not they, but you, must die.

Men with pleasure foon are cloy'd,
And forfake you when enjoy'd:
Strive their winning arts to shun;
If you flight 'em they're undone.

When that you them overpower,
Reserve yourself until the hour
Of the matrimonial noose,

Then falfe men you may abuse.

YRTILLA, like time, is always a flying, Mshe minds not my tears, and regards not my

(fighing; Every minute fhe fhuns me, and in vain I complain, For no prayers nor vows can recall her again.

My friend, be advis'd; for Time as you know,
Has a lock on his forehead, Myrtilla below;
Then if you wou'd have her to fly you no more,
To hold her, like Time, you must take her before.

IF

I

F love fuch a paffion as mine

Wou'd kindle in Celia's breast,
And with equal defire

Her heart wou'd infpire,

No mortal cou'd then be more bleft.

We two in a defart alone,

Defpifing the world and its care,
Still each other to fee,
Wou'd much happier be,

Then those who are happiest there.

If miffing my Celia by chance,

Thro' the woods I had fought her in vain,

The complaints of my love,

By the birds of the grove,

Shou'd be carry'd to Celia again.

And pleas'd with my languishing voice,

They fhou'd eccho my words through the air:
They fhou'd tell her, her fight

Was my only delight,

And her abfence my only defpair.

All the heat of the day in a fhade
Wou'd I fit and admire her charms;
In the evening I'd walk,

To my Celia I'd talk,

And have her all night in my arms.

But,

But, alas! while I thus entertain

Myfelf with the thoughts of my fair,

She I fancy fo kind,

May be falfe as the wind, Inconftant and light as the air.

FIE Celia, fcorn the little arts

Which meaner beauties ufe,

Who think they can't fecure our hearts,
Unless they still refufe;

Are coy, and shy, will feem to frown,
To raise our paffions higher;
But when the poor delight is known,
It quickly palls defire.

Come let's not trifle time away,

Or ftop you know not why;
Your blushes and your eyes betray
What death you mean to die!
Let all your maiden fears be gone,
And love no more be croft;

Ah! Celia, when the joys are known,
You'll curfe the minutes loft.

IF

I

F any

fo wife is,

That fack he defpifes,

Let him drink his finall beer and be fober,

Whilft we drink wine and fing,

As if it were fpring,

He fhall droop like the trees in October.

But be fure, over-night

If this dog do you bite,

You take it henceforth for a warning,

Soon as out of bed,

To fettle your head,

Take a hair of his tail in the morning.

And be not fo filly,

To follow old Lilly,

For there's nothing but wine that can tune us;