On his wings would I foar up to fame:

'Tis but juft, if he scorch

My breast with his torch,

In my wit too he kindle a flame.

RECITATIVE.

Trophies to Chastity let others raise,

In notes as cold as the dull thing they praise,
To rage like mine more sprightly themes belong;
Gay youth inspires, and beauty claims my song;
Me all the little Loves and Graces own;

For I was born to worship them alone.

AIR.

Tell not me the joys that wait

On him that's rich, on him that's great:
Wealth and wisdom I defpife:

Cares furround the rich and wife.

No, no, let love, let life be mine:

Bring me women, bring me wine:

Speed the dancing hours away,

And mind not what the grave ones fay;

Speed, and gild 'em as they fly

With love and freedom, wit and joy:

Bus'nefs, title, pomp, and state,

Give 'em to the fools I hate.

The

The POWER of MUSIC. A SONG.

W

Imitated from the SPANISH.

By the Same.

Set to Mufic by Dr. HAYES.

I

HEN Orpheus went down to the regions below,

Which men are forbidden to fee,

He tun'd up his lyre, as old hiftories fhew,

To fet his Eurydice free.

II.

All hell was astonish'd a perfon fo wife

Should rafhly endanger his life,

And venture fo far, but how vaft their surprise!
When they heard that he came for his wife.

III.

To find out a punishment due to his fault,

Old Pluto had puzzled his brain,.

But hell had not torments fufficient, he thought,

IV.

But pity fucceeding found place in his heart,
And pleas'd with his playing fo well,

He took her again in reward of his art;
Such merit had mufic in hell!

LETTER from SMYRNA to his Sifters at

CRUX-EASTON, 1733.

By the Same.

HE hero who to Smyrna bay

THE

From Easton, Hants, pursued his way,
Who travers'd feas, and hills and vales,
To fright his fifters with his tales,

Sing heavenly Muse; for what befel
Thou faw'ft, and only thou can'ft tell.
Say first (but one thing I premise,
I'll not be chid for telling lies;
Befides, my grannam us'd to say
I always had a knack that way,
So, if the love of truth be in ye,
Read Strabo, Diodorus, Pliny

But

But like fome authors I could name,
Wrapt in myself I lofe my theme.)
Say first, those very rocks we spy'd,
But left 'em on the ftarboard fide,
Where Juno urg'd the Trojan's fate:
Shield us, ye Gods! from female hate!
Then how precarious was the doom
Of Cæfar's line, and mighty Rome,
Snatch'd from the very jaws of ruin,

с

And fav'd, poor Die, for thy undoing.

What faw we on Sicilian ground?
(A foil in ancient verse renown'd)
The felf-fame spot, or Virgil ly'd,
On which the good Anchises dy'd;
The fields where Ceres' daughter fported,
And where the pretty Cyclops courted.
The nymph hard-hearted as the rocks,
Refus'd the monster, fcorn'd his flocks,
And took a fhepherd in his ftead,

With nought but love and worth to plead;
An inftance of a generous mind

That does much honour to your kind,

But in an age of fables grew,

So poffibly it may❜nt be true.

c Dido.

N 3

While

While on the fummit Ætna glows,
His fhivering fides are chill'd with fnows.
Beneath, the painted landskip charms;
Here infant Spring in Winter's arms
Wantons fecure; in youthful pride
Stands Summer laughing by her fide;
Ev'n Autumn's yellow robes appear,
And one gay scene discloses all the year.
Hence to rude Cerigo we came,
Known once by Cytherea's name;
When Ocean first the goddess bore,
She rofe on this diftinguifh'd fhore.
Here first the happy Paris stopp'd,
When Helen from her lord elop'd.
With pleas'd reflection I survey'd
Each fecret grott, each conscious fhade;
Envy'd his choice, approv'd his flame,
And fondly wifh'd my lot the fame.
O were the cause reviv'd again!

For charming Queensbury liv'd not then,

The radiant fruit, had fhe been there,
Would fcarce have fallen to Venus' fhare;
Saturnia's felf had wav'd her claim,

And modeft Pallas blufh'd for fhame;

All