Such foolish timorous arts as these
Wanted the power to charm;
They were too innocent to please,
They were too cold to warm.

Resolv'd, I rose, and softly prest
The lilies of her neck;
With longing eager lips I kist

The roses of her cheek.

Charm'd with this boldness, she relents,
And burns with equal fire;

To all my wishes she consents,
And crowns my fierce desire.

With heat like this Pygmalion mov'd
His statue's icy charms;

Thus warm'd, the marble virgin lov'd,
And melted in his arms.

WINE, wine in the morning
Makes us frolick and gay,

That like eagles we soar
In the pride of the day';

Gouty sots of the night
Only find a decay.

"Tis the sun ripes the grape, And to drinking gives light;. We imitate him

When by noon we're at height; They steal wine who take it When he's out of sight.

Boy, fill all the glasses,

Fill them up now he shines;

The higher he rises

The more he refines,

For wine and wit fall

As their maker declines.

[SIR WILLIAM YONGE.]

IN

N vain, dear Chloe, you suggest
That I, inconstant, have possest
Or lov'd a fairer she;

Would you with ease at once be cur'd
Of all the ills you've long endur'd,
Consult your glass and me.

If then think that I can find
you

A nymph more fair, or one more kind,
You've reason for your fears;

But if impartial you will prove
To your own beauty or my love,
How needless are your tears!

If in my way I should by chance
Receive, or give a wanton glance,
I like but while I view ;

How slight the glance, how faint the kiss,
Compar'd to that substantial bliss,

Which I receive from you!

R

With wanton flight the curious bee From flower to flower still wanders free

And where each blossom blows, Extracts the juice from all he meets, But, for his quintessence of sweets,

He ravishes the rose.

So my fond fancy to employ
On each variety of joy,

From nymph to nymph I roam

Perhaps see fifty in a day,
These are but visits that I pay,
For Chloe is my home.

;

SHOULD some perverse malignant star

(As envious stars will sometimes shine) Throw me from my Florella far,

Let not my lovely fair repine If in her absence I should gaze With pleasure on another's face.

The wearied pilgrim, when the sun
Has ended his diurnal race,

With pleasure sees the friendly moon

By borrow'd light, supply his place : Not that he slights the God of day, But loves ev'n his reflected ray.

WHY will Florella, while I gaze,
My ravish'd eyes reprove,
And chide them from the only face
They can behold with love?

To shun your scorn, and ease my care,
I seek a nymph more kind,
And while I rove from fair to fair
Still gentle usage find.

But oh! how faint is every joy
Where nature has no part;
New beauties may my eyes employ,
But you engage my heart.

So restless exiles doom'd to roam
Meet pity every where;

Yet languish for their native home,
Tho' death attends them there.