The bright bewitching Cloe's eyes,
The cares of lovers, their alarms,
The evening streak’d, like an apple, so fair,
The last time I came o'er the moor,
The mind of a woman can never be known,
The morn was fair, the sky serene,
The old coquet, whom time, in vain,
There was an a Swain full fair,
The tuneful lark, who from her neft,
They tell us that you, mighty, pow'rs above,
Tho'ladies look gay, when of beauty they boast,
Tho' women, 'tis true, are but tender,
Three nymphs glad Damon's heart revivid,

Thyrlis, afflicted with love and despair,
Thyrsis, a youth of the inspired train,
To beauty born a willing jave,
To the brook, and the willow,
Transform'd, in female shape, both old and lame,
Transporting Cloe, lovely fair,
Twas down in a meadow I chancd for to pass,

V
V4
CAINLY now ye strive to charm mne, ,
Venus, thy throne of beauty now refign,

W
W ANTON Cloe, young and charming,

Were I to chuse the greatest bliss,
What a sad fate is mine !
What can we poor females do,
What-e'er I do, where-e'er I go,
What gars the foulish mayde complain,
What man in his wits had not rather be poor,
What tho they call me country lass,
Whence comes it, neighbour Dick,
When Cloe was by Damon seen,
When Daphne first her shepherd saw,
When deceitful lovers lay

216 so 34 20 177

42

When firt I saw the bright Aurelia's eyes, 184 When first you took my heart as a prize,

88 When from her beauty long I've strove,

70 When Mira's hands her needle thread,

68 When my Aurelia Smiles, the wounds me,

236 When passion's ungovern'd by reason or art, 262 When perfect beauty is by heav'n design’d, 172 When Sylvia's charms were in their bloom,

95 When the bright god of day When the rose is in bud, and the violets blow, 53 Where, on the stage, mock hero's rage,

229 While, from any looks, fair nymph, you guess 85 While on your blooming charms I gaze,

33 Whilft on Amintor's form. I gaze,

79 Who has e’er been at Paris,

252 Why, Damon, why, why, why so pressing ? ,199 Why shou'd I ask to whom she's kind,

198 Why shou'd men quarrel here, where all possess, 195 U hy shou'd you blaine what heav'n has made, 41 Wine rejecting,

200 With every lady in the land

IOS Woman, thoughtless, giddy creature ! Wou'd you gain the tender creature,

6 Y Y E ocaus of pleasure,

223 re commons and peers,

219 re fair injurd nymphs, and ye beaus who deceive 'em, 6s re knights of la Mancha, whose powerful sword, Ye nymphs of Britain, to whose eyes

86 Te shepherds and nymphs, that adorn the gay plain, 82 Young Cupid I find Young Philander woord me long,

125 Youth and age for Celia firove,

200

2

118

18

A COL

F

OR ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove
An unrelenting foe to love;
And when we meet a mutual heart,
Come in between, and bid us part.

1

Bid us sigh on from day to day,
And wish, and wish the foul away,
"Till youth and genial years are flown,
And all the life of life is gone.

But busy, busy ftill art thou,
To bind the loveless joyless vow,
The heart from pleasure to delude,
And join the gentle to the rude.
VOL. IV.

B

For

For once, O Fortune ! hear my pray'r,
And I absolve thy future care;
All other wishes I resign,
Make but the dear Amanda mine.

The DECLAIMER.

Wo

OMAN, thoughtless, giddy creature !

Laughing, idle, Autt'ring thing! Most fantastic work of nature!

Still, like fancy, on the wing.

Slave to ev'ry changing passion,

Loving, hating, in extream: Fond of ev'ry foolish fashion ;

And, at best, a pleasing dream.

Lovely trifle! dear illufion!

Cong'ring weakness! wish'd-for pain! Man's chief glory and confusion,

Of all vanity most vain!

Thus, deriding beauty's pow'r,

Bevil call'd it all a cheat ; Cut in less than half an hour,

Kneeld and whind at Cælia's feet.

Ne

TET

ELL m, Cloe, why has nature
Been so partial to your

form? Why in beauty deck'd each feature ?

Think you 'twas to aid your scorn?

No, mistaken charming woman,

Nature no such thrift requires ; She bestows her gifts in common,

And our lib'ral use desires.

Then no longer doat on pow'r,

But let love your thoughts employ; Use the now propitious hour,

And improve the instant joy.

Time, tho' fowly, is approaching,

When that face we now adore, Stead of love will cause our loathing,

Spread with age and wrinkles o'er.

Then while weakly, vainly prating,

You your former conquests boast, Who'll regard you, while relating

What your scorn and folly lost?