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“ Dear gentle youth, is 't none but thee?

Desire 's asleep, and cannot wake, With innocence I dare be free;

When women such advances make: By so much truth and modesty

Both time and charms thus Phyllis wastes, No nymph was e'er betray'd.

Since each must surfeit ere he tastes.

Nothing escapes her wandering eyes, “ Come lean thy head upon my lap;

No one she thinks too mean a prize; While thy smooth cheeks I stroke and clap,

Ev'n Lynch ?, the lag of human kind, Thou may'st securely take a nap;"

Nearest to brutes by God design'd, Which he, poor fool, obey'd.

May boast the smiles of this coquet, She saw him yawn, and heard him snore,

As much as any man of wit. And found him fast asleep all o'er.

The signs bang thinner in the Strand, She sigh'd, and could endure no more,

The Dutch scarce more infest the land, But starting up, she said:

Though Egypt's locusts they outvie,

In number and voracity. « Such virtue shall rewarded be:

Whores are not half so plenty found, For this thy dull fidelity,

In play-house, or that hallow'd ground I'll trust you with my flocks, not me,

Of Temple-walks or Whetstone's Park; Pursue thy grazing trade;

Caresses less abound in Spark 3. “ Go, milk thy goats, and shear thy sheep,

Then with kind looks for all who come, And watch all night thy flocks to keep;

At bawdy-house, the drawing-room: Thou shalt no more be lull'd asleep

But all in vain she throws her darts,
By me, mistaken maid.”

They hit, but cannot hurt our hearts :
Age has enerv'd her charms so much,
That fearless all her eyes approach ;
Fach her autumnal face degrades

With “ Reverend Mother of the Maids !"
THE ANTIQUATED COQUET, But 'tis ill-natur'd to run on,
A SATIRE ON A LADY OP IRELAND',

Forgetting what her charms have done;

To Teagueland we this beauty owe, Phyllis, if you will not agree

Teagueland her earliest charms did know: To give me back my liberty,

There first her tyrant beauties reign'd; In spite of you, I must regain

Where'er she look'd, she conquest gain'd. My loss of time, and break your chain.

No heart the glances could repel, You were mistaken, if you thought

The Teagnes in shoals before her fell; I was so grossly to be caught;

And trotting bogs was all the art Or that I was so blindly bred,

The Sound had left to save his beart. As not to be in woman read.

She kill'd so fast, by my salvation, Perhaps you took me for a fool,

She near dispeopled half the nation : Design'd alone your sex's tool;

Though sbe, good soul, to save took care Nay, you might think so mad a thing,

All, all she could from sad despair. That, with a little fashioning,

From thence she hither came to prove I might in time, for your dear sake,

If yet ber charms could kindle love : That monster call'd a husband make:

But, ah! it was too late to try, Perhaps I might, had I not found

For Spring was gone, and Winter nigh: One darling vice in you abound;

Yet though her eyes such conquests made, A vice to me, which e'er will prove

That they were shunn'd, or else obey'd, An antidote to banish love.

Yet now her charms are so decay'd, 0! I could better bear an old,

She thanks each coxcomb that will deign Ugly, diseas'd, mis-shapen scold,

To praise her face, and wear her chain. Or one who games, or will be drunk,

So some old soldier, who had done A fool, a spendthrift, bawd, or punk,

Wonders in youth, and battles won, Than one at all who wildly flies,

When feeble years his strength depose, And, with soft, asking, giving eyes,

That he too weak to vanquish grows, And thousand other wanton arts,

With mangled face and wooden leg,
So meanly trades in begging hearts.

Reduc'd about for alms to beg,
How might such wondrous charms perplex, O'erjoy'd, a thousand thanks bestows
Give chains, or death, to all our sex,

On him who but a farthing throws.
Did she not so unwisely set,
For every Auttering fool, her net!
So poorly proud of vulgar praise,
Her very look her thoughts betrays;

SONG TO CHLORIS,
She never stays till we begin,

FROM THE BLIND ARCHER.
But beckons us herself to sin.
Ere we ean ask, she cries consent,

Ah! Chloris, 'tis time to disarm your bright eyes, So quick her yielding looks are sent,

And lay by those terrible glances; They hope forestal, and even desire prevent. We live in an age that's more civil and wise, But Nature's turn'd when women woo,

Than to follow the rules of romances,
We hate in them what we should do;

2 A notorious debauchee.
Supposed to be of the name of Clanbrazil, 3 Elizabeth Spark, a noted courtezan.

1

When once your round bubbies begin but to pout, “ For you, my love, is all my fear!

They 'll allow you no long time of courting ; Hark, how the drums do rattle! And you 'll find it a very hard task to hold out; Alas, sir! what should you do here For all maidens are mortal at fourteen.

In dreadful day of battle?

“ Let little Orange stay and fight,

For danger 's his diversion;
SONG.

The wise will think you in the right,

Not to expose your person:
METHINKS the poor town has been troubled too long,
With Phyllis and Chloris in every song,

“ Nor vex your thoughts how to repair
By fools, who at once can both love and despair, The ruins of your glory;
And will never leave calling them cruel and fair ; You ought to leave so mean a care
Which justly provokes me in rhyme to express To those who pen your story.
The truth that I know of bonny Black Bess.

“ Are not Boileau and Corneille paid
This Bess of my heart, this Bess of my soul,
Has a skin white as milk, and hair as black as a coal; | They know how heroes may be made,

For panegyric writing? She 's plump, yet with ease you may span round

Without the help of fighting. her waist, But her round swelling thighs can scarce be embrac'd:

“ When foes too saucily approach, Her belly is soft, not a word of the rest:

'Tis best to leave them fairly : But I know what I think, when I drink to the best.

Put six good horses to your coach,
The ploughman and 'squire, the arranter clown, And carry me to Marly.
At hoine she subdued in her paragon gown;
But now she adorns both the boxes and pit,

“ Let Bouflers, to secure your fame, And the proudest town gallants are forc'd to submit;

Go take some town or buy it;
All hearts fall a-leaping wherever she comes,

Whilst you, great sir, at Nôtre Dame,
And beat day and night, like my lord Craven's drums. Te Deum sing in quiet.”
I dare not permit her to come to Whitehall,
Por she'd outshine the ladies, paint, jewels, and all;
If a lord should but whisper his love in the crowd,

SONG.
She'd sell him a bargain, and laugh out aloud :
Then the queen, overhearing what Betty did say, Phyllis, the fairest of Love's fves,
Would send Mr. Roper to take her away.

Though fiercer than a dragon,
But to those that have had my dear Bess in their Phyllis, that scorn'd the powder'd beaux,

What has she now to brag on?
arms,
She 's gentle, and knows how to soften her charms; So long she kept her legs so close,
And to every beauty can add a vew grace,

Till they had scarce a rag on.
Having leam'd how to lisp, and to trip in her pace; Compell’d through want, this wretched maid
And with head on one side, and a languishing eye,

Did sad complaints begin; To kill us by looking as if she would die.

Which surly Strephon hearing, said,

“ It was both shame and sin,
To pity such a lazy jade,

As will neither play nor spin."
SONG.
May the ambitious ever find

Success in crowds and noise,
While gentle Love does fill my mind

SONG,
With silent real joys !

DORINDA's sparkling wit and eyes,
May knaves and fools grow rich and great,

United, cast too fierce a light,
And the world think them wise,

Which blazes high, but quickly dies,
While I lie dying at her feet,

Pains not the heart, but hurts the sight, And all the world despise.

Love is a calmer gentler joy, Let conquering kings new triumphs raise,

Smooth are his looks, and soft his pace; And melt in court delights;

Her Cupid is a blackguard boy,
Her eyes can give much brighter days,

That runs his link full in your face.
Her arms much softer nights.

SONG.

A FRENCH SONG PARAPHRASED.
IN

grey-hair'd Cælia's with r'd arms
As mighty Lewis lay,
She cry'd, “ If I have any charms,

My dearest, let 's away.

Sylvia, methinks you are unfit

For your great lord's embrace;
For though we all allow you wit,

We can 't a handsome face.

Then where 's the pleasure, where is the good, But when the least regard I shovih
Of spending time and cost ?

To fools who thus advise,
For if your wit be n't understood,

May I be dull enough to grow Your keeper's bliss is lost.

Most miserably wise !

SONG.

Phyllis, for shame, let us improve,

A thousand different ways,
Those few short moments snatch'd by love,

From many tedious days.
If you want courage to despise

The censure of the grave,
Though Love's a tyrant in your eyes,

Your heart is but a slave.

SONG
CORYDON beneath a willow,

By a murmuring current laid,
His arm reclin'd, the lover's pillow,

Thus address'd the charming maid. “O! my Sacharissa, tell

How could Nature take delight,
That a heart so hard should dwell

In a frame so soft and white.
“ Could you feel but half the anguish,

Half the tortures that I bear,
How for you I daily languish,

You 'd be kind as you are fair.
“ See the fire that in me reigns,

O! behold the burniog man ;
Think I feel my dying pains,

And be cruel if you can."
With her conquest pleas'd, the dame

Cry'd, with an insulting look,
“ Yes, I fain would quench your flame;

She spoke, and pointed to the brook.

My love is full of noble pride,

Nor can it e'er submit,
To let that fop, Discretion, ride

In triumph over it.

False friends I have, as well as you,

Who daily counsel me
Fame and Ambition to pursue,

And leave off loving thee.

THE

POEMS

OT

GEORGE STEPNEY.

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