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Yet when some better-fated youth

Shall with his amorous parly move thee
Reflect one moment on his truth

Who dying thus, perfifts to love thee.

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EAR Cloe, how blubber'd is that pretty face! Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurl'd: Pr'ythee quit this caprice; and (as old Falstaff says) Let us ev❜n talk a little like folks of this world.


How canft thou prefume, thou haft leave to deftroy The beauties, which Venus but lent to thy keeping? Those looks were defign'd to inspire love and joy : More ordinary eyes may ferve people for weeping.


To be vext at a trifle or two that I writ,

Your judgment at once, and my paffion, you wrong: You take that for fact, which will fcarce be found wit: Od's-life! muft one fwear to the truth of a fong?


What I speak, my fair Cloe, and what I write, fhews
The difference there is betwixt nature and art:

I court others in verfe; but I love thee in profe:
And they have my whimfies, but thou haft my heart."



V. The


The God of us verfe-men (you know, child) the Sun,

How after his journeys he fets up his rest:

If at morning o'er earth 'tis his fancy to run;
At night he declines on his Thetis's breast.

So when I am weary'd with wandering all day;
To thee my delight in the evening I come :
No matter what beauties I faw in my way;
They were but my vifits, but thou art my home.

Then finish, dear Cloe, this paftoral war ;
And let us like Horace and Lydia agree :
For thou art a girl as much brighter than her,
As he was a poct fublimer than me.





HE Trojan Swain had judg'd the great difpute,


And Beauty's power obtain'd the golden fruit;
When Venus, loofe in all her naked charms,
Met Jove's great daughter clad in fhining arms.
The wanton goddefs view'd the warlike maid
From head to foot, and tauntingly the faid :

Yield, fifter; rival, yield: naked, you see,
I vanquish guess how potent I should be,
If to the field I came in armour dreft;

Dreadful, like thine, my fhield, and terrible my creft!


The warrior goddess with difdain reply'd :
Thy folly, child, is equal to thy pride :
Letra brave enemy for once advise,

And Venus (if 'tis poffible) be wife.
Thou, to be strong, must put off every dress:
Thy only armour is thy nakedness;

And more than once (or thou art much bely'd)
By Mars himself that armour has been try❜d.

To a young GENTLEMAN in Love.



'ROM public noise and factious ftrife,
From all the bufy ills of life,

Take me, my Celia, to thy breaft;
And lull my wearied foul to rest,
For ever, in this humble cell,
Let thee and I, my fair one, dwell;
None enter elfe, but Love-and he
Shall bar the door, and keep the key.
To painted roofs and thining fpires
(Uneafy feats of high defires)
Let the unthinking many croud,
That dare be covetous and proud :
In golden bondage let them wait,
And barter happiness for state.
But oh! my Celia, when thy fwain
Defires to fee a court again.
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May Heaven around this deftin'd head
The choiceft of its curfes fhed!
To fum up all the rage of fate

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In the two things I dread and hate,
May'ft thou be falfe, and I be
Thus, on his Celia's panting breast,
Fond Celadon his foul expreft;
While with delight the lovely maid
Receiv'd the vows the thus repaid:
Hope of my age, joy of my youth,
Bleft miracle of love and truth;
All that could e'er be counted mine,
My love and life, long fince are thine
A real joy I never knew,

Till I believ'd thy paffion true:
A real grief I ne'er can find,
Till thou prov'st perjur'd, or unkind,
Contempt, and poverty, and care,
All we abhor, and all we fear,
Bleft with thy presence, I can bear,
Through waters and through flames I'll go,
Sufferer and folace of thy woe:

Trace me fome yet unheard-of way,

That I thy ardour may repay;

And make my conftant paffion known
By more than woman yet has done.
Had I a wifh that did not bear

The ftamp and image of my dear;
I'd pierce my heart through every vein,
And die, to let it out again..


No: Venus fhall my witness be
(If Venus ever lov'd like me),
That for one hour I would not quit
My fhepherd's arms, and this retreat,
To be the Perfian Monarch's bride,
Partner of all his power and pride;
Or rule in regal state above,
Mother of Gods, and wife of Jove.

"O happy thefe of human race!"
But foon, alas! our pleafures pafs.
He thank'd her on his bended knee;
Then drank a quart of milk and tea;
And, leaving her ador'd embrace,
Haften'd to court, to beg a place.
While fhe, his abfence to bemoan,
The very moment he was gone,
Call'd Thyrfis from beneath the bed!
Where all this time he had been hid,


WHILE men have these ambitious fancies;

And wanton wenches read romances;

Our fex will-What? Out with it. Lye;
And theirs in equal ftrains reply.

The moral of the tale I fing

(A pofy for a wedding ring)

In this fhort verfe will be confin'd:
Love is a jeft, and vows are wind.

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