THE FEMALE PHAETON. THUS KITTY, beautiful and young, Inflamed with rage at sad restraint 'Shall I thumb holy books, confined 'Must Lady JENNY frisk about, At Balls, must she make all the rout; 'What has she better, pray, than I? 'Dear Mamma! for once, let me, 'I'll soon, with JENNY's pride quit score! They'll grieve, I was not loosed before! Fondness prevailed! Mamma gave way! READING ends in melancholy! Wine breeds vices and diseases! Wealth's but a care, and Love but folly; Only Friendship truly pleases! My wealth, my books, my flask, my MOLLY, Farewell all, if Friendship ceases! CLOE HUNTING. BEHIND her neck her comely tresses tied, Her ivory quiver graceful by her side; A hunting CLOE went! She lost her way; And through the woods, uncertain, chanced to stray. APOLLO, passing by, beheld the Maid, And, 'Sister dear, bright CYNTHIA! turn!' he said, 'The hunted hind lies close in yonder brake!' Loud CUPID laughed, to see the God's mistake; And laughing, cried, 'Learn better, great Divine! To know thy kindred; and to honour mine! Rightly advised, far hence thy Sister seek, Or on Meander's banks, or Latmus' peak! But in this Nymph, my friend! my Sister know! She draws my arrows, and she bends my bow! Fair Thames, she haunts, and ev'ry neighb'ring grove Sacred to soft recess and gentle love! 'Go, with thy CYNTHIA! hurl the pointed spear At the rough boar; or chase the flying deer! I and my CLOE take a nobler aim! At human hearts we fling; nor ever miss the game!' THE GARLAND. THE pride of ev'ry grove I chose, At Morn, the Nymph vouchsafed to place The flowers she wore along the Day; And every Nymph and Shepherd said, That, in her hair, they looked more gay Than glowing in their native bed! Undressed at Evening, when she found That eye dropped sense distinct and clear, As any Muse's tongue could speak; When from its lid, a pearly tear Ran trickling down her beauteous cheek. Dissembling what I knew too well, 'My Love! my life!' said I, 'explain This change of humour! Prithee, tell! That falling tear-what does it mean?' She sighed! she smiled! and to the flowers 'Ah! me! the blooming pride of May, 'At Dawn, poor STELLA danced and sung; 'Such as she is, who died To-day; Such I, alas! may be To-morrow! Go, DAMON! bid thy Muse display The justice of thy CLOE's sorrow!' |