Or if a Pilgrim you wou'd pay your Vows, Where Jordan's Stream in foft Meanders flows; I'll be a Pilgrim, and my Vows I'll pay

Where Jordan's Streams in foft Meanders play.

But whence these fudden fad prefaging Fears, Thefe rifingSighs,and whence these flowing Tears? Ah! leaft the Trumpets terrible alarms

Have drawn the Lover from his Calia's Charms,
To try th'doubtful Field,and shine in azureArms.
Ah! can't thou bear the labours of the War,
[Spear.
Or bend the Warrior's Bow, or dart the pointed
Defift, fond Youth, let others Glory gain,
And follow Honour o'er the distant Main,
Or rush in dreadful Arms impetuous to the Plain.
Thee, Shepherd, thee the pleasurable Woods,
The painted Meadows, and the Crystal Floods,
Claim, and invite thee to their sweet Abodes.

There

There fhady Bow'rs, and Sylvan Scenes arife,
There Fountains warble, and the Spring supplies
Or Flow'rs to pleafe the Smell or charm the Eyes.
But mourn ye Sylvan Scenes, and fhady Bow'rs,
Weep all ye Fountains, languish all ye Flow'rs;
If in a Defart Damon but appear,

To Calia's Eyes a Defart is more fair
Than all your Charms when Damon is not there.
Gods! what foft Words, what fweet delufive Wiles

He has! and oh! thofe dear undoing Smiles!

Pleas'd with our Ruin to his Arms we run:

To be undone by him, who wou'd not be undone?

But die, O.wretched Calia, die! In vain Thus to the Fields and Floods you tell your Pain; Vain is each Tear, and ufeless is each Sigh, And Life a load; forfaken Calia die!

Forlorn!

Forlorn! abandon'd! to the Rocks I go,

But they have learn'd new Cruelties of you!
Relenting Echo only with me mourns,

And, faint with Grief, fhe fcarce my Sighs returns.
Pity, kind Heav'n, and right an injur'd Maid;
Yet O! yet fpare the dear Deceiver's Head!
If o'er the Waves he cuts the liquid way,
Be still, ye Waves, and round his Veffel play!
And you, ye Winds, confine each ruder Breath,
Lye hufh'd in Silence, and be calm as Death.
But if he stay detain'd by adverfe Gales,

My Sighs fhall drive the Ship, and fill the flagging

[Sails.

HERE is a Game,which learn'd with Care,

TH

Brings Wit and Pleasure to the Fair;
Blows up betimes the Sparks of Reason,
And all the Year this Sport's in Seafon.
Young Damfels often it employs

Both Night and Day, yet never cloys.
Mifs plays it briskeft with a Lover;
A Husband can't so much improve her.

By

By what I've faid to explain this Game, It can't be hard to guess its Name;

At least to understand what's meant:

So I'll go on with my Intent,

And fhew how Wit may be convey'd,
And Senfe infus'd in harmless Maid.

Before young Lucy knew this School,
Lucy was but a fimple Soul;

To weave Bone-lace, knit, fpin, or few,
Was all, that Lucy then could do.

Thus fhe employ'd her Hands all Day;
All Night she us'd to fleep, or pray,
And dully pass'd her Hours away.
Her Head from every Thought was free,
And Baby dream'd as oft as she.

Sorrow or Grief she knew no other,

But what came from her loving Mother;

O 2

}

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