When you the flowers for CLOE twine, Why do you, to her garland join

The meanest bud that falls from mine? Simplest of Swains! The World may see, Whom CLOE loves! and who loves me!

CUPID MISTAKEN.

As, after noon, one summer's day,
VENUS stood bathing in a river,
CUPID, a shooting, went that way;

New strung his bow, new filled his quiver.

With skill, he chose his sharpest dart!
With all his might, his bow he drew!
Aimed at his beauteous parent's heart;
With certain speed the arrow flew!

'I faint! I die!' the Goddess cried, 'O, cruel! couldst thou find none other To wreck thy spleen on? Parricide!

Like NERO, thou hast slain thy mother!'

Poor CUPID, sobbing, scarce could speak. 'Indeed, Mamma, I did not know ye! Alas! how easy my mistake!

I took you for your likeness, CLOE!'

THE merchant, to secure his treasure,
Conveys it in a borrowed name :
EUPHELIA serves to grace my measure;
But CLOE is my real flame!

My softest verse, my darling lyre,
Upon EUPHELIA's toilet lay;

When CLOE noted her desire

That I should sing! that I should play!

My lyre I tune, my voice I raise;
But with my Numbers mix my sighs!
And whilst I sing EUPHELIA's praise;
I fix my soul on CLOE's eyes!

Fair CLOE blushed! EUPHELIA frowned!
I sung and gazed! I played and trembled!
And VENUS, to the Loves around

Remarked, 'How ill we all dissembled!'

IF Wine and Music have the power
To ease the sickness of the soul,
Let PHOEBUS ev'ry string explore;
And BACCHUS fill the sprightly bowl!
Let them their friendly aid employ
To make my CLOE's absence light!
And seek for pleasure, to destroy
The sorrows of this life-long night!

But she to-morrow will return!
VENUS! be thou to-morrow great!
Thy myrtles strow! thy odours burn!
And meet thy fav'rite Nymph in State!
Kind Goddess! to no other Powers
Let us to-morrow's blessings own!
Thy darling Loves shall guide the Hours;
And all the day be thine alone!

IN IMITATION OF ANACREON.

LET them censure! what care I?
The herd of Critics I defy!

Let the wretches know, I write
Regardless of their grace, or spite!
No! No! The Fair, the Gay, the Young,
Govern the Numbers of my Song!
All that they approve is sweet;
And all is sense that they repeat!

Bid the warbling Nine retire!
VENUS! string thy Servant's lyre!
Love shall be my endless theme!
Pleasure shall triumph over Fame!
And when these maxims I decline;
APOLLO! may thy fate be mine!
May I grasp at empty praise;

And lose the Nymph, to gain the Bays!

THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS.

CELIA and I, the other day,

Walked o'er the sand-hills to the sea.
The setting sun adorned the coast;
His beams entire, his fierceness lost:
And, on the surface of the Deep,
The winds lay only not asleep.

The Nymph did, like the scene appear,
Serenely joyous! calmly fair!

Soft fell her words, as flew the air!
With secret joy, I heard her say,
That she would never miss one day,

A walk so fine! a sight so gay!

But, O, the change! The winds grow high! Impending tempests charge the sky! The lightning flies, the thunder roars; And big waves lash the frightened shores! Struck with the horror of the sight, She turns her head, and wings her flight; And, trembling, vows she'll ne'er again Approach the shore, or view the Main!

'Once more, at least, look back!' said I,
Thyself, in that large Glass descry!
When thou art in good humour drest,
When gentle Reason rules thy breast;
The sun, upon the calmest sea,
Appears not half so bright as thee!
'Tis then, that with delight I rove
Upon the boundless Depth of Love!
I bless my chain, I hand my oar;
Nor think on all I left on shore!

'But when vain doubts and groundless fear Do that dear foolish bosom tear;

When the big lip, and wat'ry eye,

Tell me, the rising storm is nigh:
'Tis then, thou art yon angry Main,
Deformed by winds, and dashed by rain!
And the poor sailor that must try
Its fury, labours less than I!

'Shipwrecked, in vain to land I make! While Love and Fate still drive me back. Forced to dote on thee, thy own way;

I chide thee first, and then obey!

Wretched, when from thee; vexed, when nigh : I, with thee, or without thee, die!