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So fweetly coy! Love's eager Fire

Repell'd, does with more Rage aspire,

Enkindled at a Face fo bright,

It dazles the enamour'd Sight.

She comes! fhe comes! fhe leaves her Cyprian Plains,
And all the Goddess rufhes in my Veins;

No more of vanquish'd Gauls I fing,
And hardy Britons fierce in Fight,
My Pen is pluck'd from CUPID's Wing,
And, Love, and only Love will write.

Some Vervain bring, and Myrtle here,
To Venus I'll an Altar rear;

Incense and Wine, my Boys, prepare,

I'll Sacrifice and get the Fair.

干锅

то

TO HIS

FRIEND

Inclin❜d to'

MARRY.

Would not have you, Strephon, chuse a Mate, From too exalted, or too mean a State: For in both thefe, we may expect to find A creeping Spirit, or a haughty Mind. Who moves within the middle Region, shares The leaft Difquiets, and the smallest Cares.

Let her Extraction with true Luftre fhine,

If fomething brighter, not too bright for thine.
Her Education liberal, not great,

Neither inferior, nor above her State.

Let

Let her have Wit, but let that Wit be free
From Affectation, Pride, and Pedantry:
For the Effect of Woman's Wit is fuch,
Too little is as dang'rous, as too much.
But chiefly let her Humours clofe with thine,
Unless where your's does to a Fault incline.
The leaft Difparity in this destroys,

Like Sulph'rous Blafts, the very Buds of Joys,
Her Perfon amiable, ftrait, and free
From natural, or chance Deformity.
Let not her Years exceed, if equal thine,
For Women paft their Vigour foon decline;
Her Fortune competent, and if thy Sight
Can reach fo far, take care 'tis gather'd Right.
If thine's enough, then her's may be the lefs,
Do not afpire to Riches in Excefs.

For that which makes our Love delightful prove,
Is a genteel Sufficiency, and Love.

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On Playing at Shuttlecock with a LADY, on Valentine's Day.

'T

Was on that Morn, whofe genial Ray
Invites the feather'd Race to play,

When each fweet Warbler of the Air
Takes out his Partner for the Year.
To Groves in faithful Pairs they wing,
And wake with Melody the Spring:
Aufpicious Day, said I, inspire
My Fair One with an equal Fire.

Then dreft, I to Pulcheria flew
As fwift and blith, ye Birds, as you;.
We fat and laugh'd, and fip'd Bohea,
For what's the Morn without its Tea?
Then took the Battle-dores and play'd,
CUPID, and I, against the Maid;

I fnatch'd the Feather'd Cork, and threw,
Now, CUPID, now, if ever do,

Turn me this Cork into a Dart,
I cry'd, and aim'd it at her Heart;

The

The Archer fmil'd to find that she

Return'd the Cork as faft as we:

Five Hundred Times in rage we try'd
To fix the Arrow in her Side,
As many Times the Dart repell'd,
Declar'd 'twas hard to win the Field..

And is it fo the Go D replys.

But what if we fhould blind her Eyes?
We'll do't, he cry'd, and ftrait he threw
A hazy Mist before her View,
Upon her Neck the Arrow fell,
I faw her lovely Bofome fwell.

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