CLARINDA, with a haughty grace,

In fcornful poftures fets her face,

And looks as fhe were born alone
To give us love, and take from none.

Though I adore to that degree,
Clarinda, I would die for thee,
If you 're too proud to ease my pain,
I am too proud for your disdain.

CL

CLE OR A.

LEORA has her wifh, fhe weds a peer,
Her weighty train two pages fcarce can bear,
Perfia and both the Indies muft provide
To grace her pomp and gratify her pride;
Of rich brocade a fhining robe she wears,
And gems furround her lovely neck like stars:
Drawn by fix greys of the proud Belgian kind,
With a long train of livery beaux behind,
She charms the Park, and fets all hearts on fire,
The ladies' envy, and the mens' defire.
Beholding thus, O happy as a queen!
We cry but shift the gaudy flattering scene,
View her at home in her domeftic light,
For thither the must come, at least at night.

What

What has the there? a furly, ill-bred lord,
That chides, and fnaps her up at every word;
A brutal fot, who, while fhe holds his head,
With drunken filth bedaubs the nuptial bed:
Sick to the heart, fhe breathes the nauseous fume
Of odious fteams that poifon all the room:
Weeping all night the trembling creature lies,
And counts the tedious hours when the may rife :
But moft the fears, left waking she should find,
To make amends, the monfter would be kind:
Those matchlefs beauties, worthy of a god,
Muft bear, though much averfe, the loathfome load.
What then may be the chance that next ensues?
Some vile difeafe fresh reeking from the stews :

The fecret venom, circling in her veins,

Works through her skin, and bursts in bloating stains;
Her cheeks their freshness lofe, and wonted grace,
And an unusual palenefs fpreads her face;
Her eyes grow dim, and her corrupted breath
Tainting her gums, infects her ivory teeth;
Of sharp nocturnal anguish she complains,
And, guiltlefs of the cause, relates her pains.
The confcious husband, whom like fymptoms feize,
Charges on her the guilt of their disease,
Affecting fury, acts a madman's part,
He'll rip the fatal fecret from her heart!

Bids her confefs, calls her ten thousand names,
In vain she kneels, fhe weeps, protefts, exclaims;
Scarce with her life the 'fcapes, expos'd to fhame,
In body tortur'd, murder'd in her fame,

Rots with a vile adulteress's name;

}

Abandon'd by her friends, without defence,
And happy only in her innocence.

Such is the vengeance the juft gods provide
For those who barter liberty for pride;
Who impiously invoke the powers above
To witness to falfe vows of mutual love.
Thousands of poor Cleora's may be found,
Such hufbands and fuch wretched wives abound.
Ye guardian powers, the arbiters of bliss,
Preferve Clarinda from a fate like this:
You form'd her fair, not any grace deny'd,
But gave, alas! a spark too much of pride;
Reform that failing, and protect her still,
O fave her from the curfe of chufing ill.
Deem it not envy, or a jealous care,

That moves these wishes, or provokes this prayer.
Though more than death I dread to fee those charms
Allotted to fome happier mortal's arms;
Tormenting thought! yet could I bear that pain,
Or any ill, but hearing her complain;
Intent on her, my love forgets his own,
Nor frames one with but for her fake alone;
Whome'er the gods have deftin'd to prefer,
They cannot make me wretched, bleffing her.

ΤΗ

'HAT Macro's looks are good, let no man doubt, Which I, his friend and fervant, thus make out. On his dark forehead a falfe friend is writ, Let none condemn the light that fhews a pit. Cocles, whofe face finds credit for his heart, Who can efcape fo fmooth a villain's art? Adorn'd with every grace that can perfuade, Seeing, we truft; and, trufting, are betray'd! His looks are fnares; but Macro's cry beware, Believe not, though ten thousand oaths he swear. If thou 'rt deceiv'd, obferving well this rule, Not Macro is the knave, but thou the fool. In this one point he and his looks agree, As they betray their mafter, fo did he.

PHYLLIS

WHILE

DRINKING.

HILE Phyllis is drinking, Love and Wine in alliance,

With forces united bid resistless defiance;

By the touch of her lips the wine sparkles higher,
And her eyes by her drinking redouble their fire.

Her cheeks glow the brighter, recruiting their colour,
As flowers by fprinkling revive with fresh odour;
His dart dipt in wine, Love wounds beyond curing,
And the liquor, like oil, makes the flame more enduring.

By

By cordials of wine, love is kept from expiring,
And our mirth is enliven'd by love and defiring;
Relieving each other, the pleasure is lafting,
And we never are cloy'd, yet are ever a tafting.

Then Phyllis begin, let our rapturés abound,
And a kifs and a glafs be ftill going round;
Our joys are immortal while thus we remove
From love to the bottle, from the bottle to love.

MPATIENT with defire, at last
I ventur'd to lay forms afide:
'Twas I was modeft, not the chafte;
Celia, fo gently prefs'd, comply'd.

With idle awe, an amorous fool,
I gaz'd upon her eyes with fear;
Say, Love, how came your flave fo dull
To read no better there?

Thus, to ourselves the greatest foes,
Although the nymph be well inclin'd,

For want of courage to propose,
By our own folly she's unkind.