All well; but prithee honeft Hans,
Says Satan, leave your Complaifance.
The Truth is this, I cannot stay
Flaring in Sunshine all the Day,
For entre Nous, we hellish Sprites
Love more the Frefco of the Nights,
And oftner our Receipts convey
In Dreams, than any other way.
I tell you therefore as a Friend,

E'er Morning dawns, your Fears shall end;
Go then this Ev'ning, Mafter Carvel,

Lay down your Fowls, and broach your Barrel;
Let Friends and Wine diffolve your Care,
Whilft I the great Receipt prepare;
To Night I'll bring it, by my Faith;
Believe, for once, what Satan faith.
Away went Hans, glad not a little,
Obey'd the Devil to a Tittle;
Invited Friends fome half a Dozen,
The Colonel, and my Lady's Cozen.

The Meat was ferv'd, the Bowls were crown'd;
Catches were Sung, and Healths went round:
Modifh Ratafia for the Clofe,

'Till Hans had fairly got his Dofe:

The Colonel Toafted to the beft,

The Dame mov'd off to be undreft:

The Chimes went Twelve, the Guests withdrew,
But when or how, Hans hardly knew.
Some Modern Anecdotes aver,

He nodded in his Elbow Chair:
From thence was carried off to Bed;
John held his Heels, and Nan his Head.
My Lady was difturb'd, new Sorrow;
Which Hans muft anfwer for to Morrow.
In Bed then view the happy Pair,
And think how Hymen Triumph'd there.
Hans, faft afleep as foon as laid,
The Duty of the Night unpaid:

The waking Dame, with Thoughts oppreft,
That made her hate both him and Reft,
By fuch a Husband, fuch a Wife!
'Twas Acme's and Septimius' Life.
The Lady figh'd, the Lover fnor'd;
The punctual Devil kept his Word,
Appear'd to honest Hans again,
(But not at all by Madam feen)
And giving him a Magick Ring,
Fit for the Finger of a King:
Dear Hans, faid he, this Jewel take,
And wear it long for Satan's fake;
'Twill do your Business to a Hair;
For long as you this Ring fhall wear,
As fure as I look over Lincoln,

That ne'er shall happen which you think on.
Hans took the Ring with Joy extream,
(All this was only in a Dream)
And thrusting it beyond his Joint,

'Tis done, he cry'd, I've gain'd my Point -----
What Point, faid fhe, you ugly Beast?

You neither give me Joy nor Rest:

'Tis done,----what's done, you drunken Bear,

You've thrust your Finger G---d knows where.

The DESPAIRING. SHEPHERD.

A PASTORAL. ·

By the fame Hand.

Lexis fhunn'd his Fellow Swains,

A Their rural Sports, and fprightly Strains,

(Heav'n guard us all from Cupid's Bow!)
He loft his Crook, he left his Flocks,
And wand'ring through the lonely Rocks,
He nourish'd endlefs Woe.

F S

The Nymphs and Shepherds round him can
His Grief fome pity, others blame;
The fatal Cause all kindly feek;
He mingled his Concern with theirs,
He gave 'em back their friendly Tears,
He figh'd but wou'd not fpeak.

Clorinda came among the reft,
She too a kind Concern expreft,
And ask'd the Reafon of his Woe;
She ask'd, but with an Air and Mein
That made it easily foreseen,

She fear'd too much to know.

The Shepherd rais'd his mournful Head,
And will you pardon me, he said,

Whilft I the cruel Truth reveal?
Which nothing from my Breaft fhou'd tear,
Which never thou'd offend your Ear,
But that you bid me tell.

'Tis thus I Love, 'tis thus complain, Since you appear'd upon the Plain,

You are the Caufe of all my Care; Your Eyes ten thousand Dangers dart, Ten thoufand Torments vex my Heart, I love, and I defpair.

Too much, Alexis, I have heard,
"Tis what I thought, 'tis what I fear'd,
But yet I pardon you, the cry'd,
Provided you will ne'er again
Declare your Vows, or speak your Pain :
He bew'd, obey'd, and dy’d.

To fum up all the Rage of Fate
In the Two Things I dread and hate,
May'ft thou be Falfe, and I be Great.

Thus, on his Chloe's panting Breaft,
Fond Celadon his Soul expreft;
While with Delight the lovely Maid
Receiv'd the Vows the thus repaid.

Hope of my Age, Joy of my Youth,
Bleft Miracle of Love and Truth!
All that cou'd e'er be counted mine,
My Love and Life, long fince are thine;
A real Joy I never knew,

'Till I believ'd thy Paffion true;
A real Grief I ne'er can find,
'Till thou prov'ft Perjur'd or Unkind.
Contempt, and Poverty, and Care,
All we abhor, and all we fear,
Bleft with thy Presence, I can bear;
Can fuffer Racks, and run thro' Flame,
Still contented, ftill the fame;

Then trace me fome unheard of Way,
Thy conftant Ardour to repay,
For I my Senfe of it wou'd fhow
In more than Woman e'er cou'd do.
Had I a With that did not bear
The Stamp and Image of my Dear,
I'd pierce my Heart thro' ev'ry Vein,
And die to let it out again.
No: Venus fhall my Witnefs be,
(If Venus ever lov'd like me)

That for one Hour i wou'd not quit
My Shepherd's Arms, and this Retreat,
To be the Perftan Monarch's Bride,
Part'ner of all his Pow'r and Pride;
Or rule in Regal State above,
Mother of Gods, and Wife of Jove.
Happy thefe of Human Race:

But oh! how foon our Pleasures pass!

He thank'd her on his bended Knee,
Then drank a Quart of Milk and Tea;
And leaving her ador'd Embrace,
Haften'd to Court to beg a Place.
While fhe, his Abfence to bemoan,
As foon as ever he was gone,
Call'd Thyrfis from beneath the Bed,
Where all this time he had been hid.

MORA L.

Whilft Men have thefe Ambitious Fancies,
And wanton Wenches read Romances,
Our Sex will be inur'd to lye,
And theirs inftructed to Reply.
The Moral of the Tale I fing,
(A Pofy for a Wedding Ring)
In this fhort Verfe will be confin'd,
Love is a Jeft, and Vows are Wind.

The WEDDING NIGHT.

W

Hen Jove lay bleft in his Alcmana's Charms, Three Nights in one he preft her in his Arms; The Sun lay fet, and confcious Nature ftrove To fhade her God, and to prolong his Love. From that aufpicious Night Alcides came,, What lefs could rise from Jove, and fuch a Dame? May this aufpicious Night with that compare, Nor lefs the Joys, nor less the rifing Heir, He ftrong as Jove, he like Alemana Fair.

CLEO R A.

By the Honourable Mr. GEORGE GRANVILL.

C

Leora has her With, the Weds a Peer,

Her weighty Train, two Pages fcarce can bear;