TO

As round the room I turn my weeping eyes, New unaffected scenes of sorrow rise. 'Far from my sight that killing picture bear, 'The face disfigure, and the canvas tear : ' That picture, which with pride I us’d to show, "The loft resemblance but upbraids me now. "And thou, my toilette, where I oft have fate, 'While hours, unheeded pass’d in deep debate, 'How curls should fall, or where a patch to place ;

If blue or scarlet best became my face ; “Now on some happier nymph your aid bestow; ‘On fairer heads, ye useless jewels, glow; 'No borrow'd lustre can my charms restore ; “Beauty is filed, and dress is now no more.

• Ye cruel chymists, what with-held your aid ! “Could no pomatums save a trembling maid? . *How false and trilling is that art ye boast !

No art can give me back my beauty loft. *In tears, surrounded by my friends I lay, “Mask'd o'er, and trembled at the sight of dayi MirMillio came my fortune to deplore, (A golden-headed cane well carv'd he bore)

Cordials, he cry'd, my spirits must restore ! • Beauty is fled, and spirit is no more !

Galen, the grave; officious Squirt was there, “With fruitless grief and unavailing care : * MACHAON too, the great MACHAON, known * By his ręd cloak and his fuperior frown ; * And why, he cry'd, this grief and this defpair ? "You fhall again be well, again be fair; Believe my oath ; (with that an oath he fwore ;) False was his oath; my beauty is no more!

Ceafe, hapless maid, no more thy tale pursue, * Forsake mankind, and bid the world adieu !

Monarchs and beauties rule with equal fway; * All strive to serve, and glory to obey : "Alike unpitied when deposid they grow Men mock the idol of their former vow.

“Adieu!

Adieu! ye parks !-in some obscure recess, • Where gentle streams will weep at my distress, • Where no false friend will in my grief take part,

And mourn my ruin with a joyful heart; * There let me live in some deserted place, - " There hide in shades this loft inglorious face. • Plays, operas, circles, I no more must view! - My toilette, patches, all the world adieu !

The LOVER: A BALLA D.

To Mr. Cm
By the Same.

1.

A T length, by fo much importunity press’d, 1 Take, C- , at once the inside of my breast. This stupid indiff’rence so often you blame, Is not owing to nature, to fear, or to shame. I am not as cold as a virgin in lead, Nor is Sunday's sermon so strong in my head: I know but too well how time flies along, That we live but few years, and yet fewer are young.

II. But

... II. But I hate to be cheated, and never will buy , . Long years of repentance for moments of joy; Oh! was there a man (but where shall I find Good sense and good-nature so equally join’d?). Would value his pleasure, contribute to mine ; Not meanly would boast, nor lewdly design, Not over severe, yet not stupidly vain, For I would have the power, though not give the pain.

No pedant, yet learned; not rake-helly gay,
Or laughing because he has nothing to say ;
To all my whole sex obliging and free,
Yet never be fond of any but me;
In public preserve the decorum that's just,
And shew in his eyes he is true to his trust;
Then rarely approach, and respectfully bow,
But not fulsomely pert, nor foppishly low.

IV.
But when the long hours of public are past,
And we meet with champagne and a chicken at last,
May every fond pleasure that moment endear;
Be banish'd afar both discretion and fear! .

For

125 ) Forgetting or scorning the airs of the crowd, He may cease to be formal, and I to be proud, 'Till lost in the joy, we confess that we live, And he may be rude, and yet I may forgive.

V.

And that my delight may be folidly fix'd,
Let the friend and the lover be handsomely mix’d,
In whose tender bosom my soul may confide,
Whose kindness can footh me, whose counsel can guide.
From such a dear lover, as here I describe,
No danger should fright me, no millions should bribe ;
But 'till this astonishing creature I know,
As I long haye liv'd chaste, I will keep myself fo.

VI.
I never will share with the wanton coquet,
Or be caught by a vain affectation of wit. in
The toasters and songsters may try all their art,
But never shall enter the pass of my heart.
I loath the lewd rake, the dress’d fopling despise :
Before such pursuers the nice virgin flies :
And as Ovid has sweetly in parables told,
We harden like trees, and like rivers grow cold.

The