She scratched, bit, and spar'd ne lace ne band,
And bitch and rogue her answer was to all!
Nay, ev'n the parts of shame by name would call :
Yea, when she passed by or lane or nook,
Would greet the man who turn'd him to the wall,
And by his hand obscene the porter took,
Nor ever did askance like modest virgin look.
Such place hath Deptford, navy-building town,
Woolwich and Wapping, smelling strong of pitch;
Such Lambeth, envy of each band and gown,
And Twick'nam such, which fairer scenes enrich,
Grots, statues, urns, and Jo-n's dog and bitch,
Ne village is without, on either side,
All up the silver Thames, or all adown;
Ne Richmond's self, from whose tall front are ey'd Vales, spires, meandring streams, and Windsor's tow'ry pride.
OF A LADY SINGING TO HER LUTE.
FAIR charmer! cease; nor make your voice's prize A heart resign'd the conquest of your eyes: Well might, alas! that threaten'd vessel fail, Which winds and lightning both at once assail. We were too bless'd with these enchanting lays, Which must be heav'nly when an angel plays : But killing charms your lover's death contrive, Lest heav'nly music should be heard alive. Orpheus could charm the trees; but thus a tree, Taught by your hand, can charm no less than he. 10 A poet made the silent wood pursue;
This vocal wood had drawn the poet too.
ON A FAN OF THE AUTHOR'S DESIGN, IN WHICH
WAS PAINTED THE STORY OF CEPHALUS AND
PROCRIS, WITH THE MOTTO AURA VENI."
COME, gentle Air! th' Æolian shepherd said,
While Procris panted in the secret shade:
Come, gentle Air! the fairer Delia cries,
While at her feet her swain expiring lies.
Lo! the glad gales o'er all her beauties stray.
Breathe on her lips, and in her bosom play!
In Delia's hand this toy is fatal found,
Nor could that fabled dart more surely wound :
Both gifts destructive to the givers prove:
Alike both lovers fall by those they love.
Yet guiltless too this bright destroyer lives,
At random wounds, nor knows the wound she gives: She views the story with attentive eyes,
And pities Procris while her lover dies.
FAIN would my Muse the flow'ry treasure sing,
And humble glories of the youthful Spring;
Where op'ning roses breathing sweets diffuse,
And soft carnations show'r their balmy dews;
Where lilies smile in virgin robes of white,
The thin undress of superficial light,
And vary'd tulips show so dazzling gay,
Blushing in bright diversities of day.
Each painted flow'ret in the lake below
Surveys its beauties, whence its beauties grow;
And pale Narcissus, on the bank in vain
Transformed, gazes on himself again.
Here aged trees cathedral walks compose,
And mount the hill in venerable rows;
There the green infants in their beds are laid,
The Garden's hope, and its expected shade.
Here orange trees with blooms and pendants shine,
And vernal honours to their autumn join;
Exceed their promise in the ripen'd store,
Yet in the rising blossom promise more.
There in bright drops the crystal fountains play,
By laurels shielded from the piercing day :
Where Daphne, now a tree as once a maid,
Still from Apollo vindicates her shade;
Still turns her beauties from th' invading beam,
Nor seeks in vain for succour to the stream.
The stream at once preserves her virgin leaves,
At once a shelter from her boughs receives,
Where summer's beauty midst of winter stays,
And winter's coolness spite of summer's rays.
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