464 AS ever poor fellow fo plagn'd with a vixen ? -ns Madge don't provoke ine, but mind what I fay 've chose a wrong parfon for playing your tricks o pack up your alis and be trudging away; [on, You'd better be quiet, And not breed a riot ;

ood must Istand prating with you here all day? I've got other matters to mind;

May hap you may think me an als;

But to the contrary you'll find:

A fine piece of work by the mafs!

465 HILST other men fing of their goddeffes bright, o darken the day, and enliven the night: g of a woman, but fuch flesh and blood! touch of her finger would do your heart good. ten times a day to her chamber I come ell her my paffion, but can't, I'm ftruck dumb faith, I'm ftruck dumb with love and fürprizé, my tongue falls afleep at the fight of her eyes. lircle dog Pompey's my rival I fee, fmiles upon him though the frowns upon me; I then my dear Charlotte abufe not your charms, instead of your lap-dog, take me to your arms. 466

HILE the bee flies from blossom to bloffom, and nd my Jessy looks buxom and gay;' [hips, me hang on her neck, and taste from her lips," ll the fweets of an April day.

fhepherd his flock, the ruftic his plough, The farmer with joy views his hay,

Felly, my charmer, when milking her cow, ings the fweets of an April day.

e fnow-drops with innocent sweetness array'd, is blithsome and chearful as May.

<

Jelly, the pride of all the gay mead,

ing the fweet of an April day.

nember, dear Jessv, and use well your pow'r, 'our rofe-buds then pluck while you may; 1 guiltless enjoy all the fweets of this hour, or youth's but an April day.

467

WHAT exquifite pleasure!
This sweet treasure

From me they shall never
Sever;

In thee, in thee,
My charmer I fee:
I'll figh, and caress thee,
I'll kiss thee, and prefs thee,

Thus, thus, to my bofom, for ever and ever.

468
WHEN Placinda's beauties appear,
How enchanting then is her air!
Such a fine fhape and fize,
Such lips, teeth, and eyes!
So many pointed darts who can bear!
Such her carriage and elegant wit;
Then her temper, so good, and fo fweet ;

Whate'er fhe does or fays
We all in tranfports gaze,
Like young fquires in the opera pit.
There's Eliza to captivate;
But to cut off all hopes of retreat,

The mighty Hercules

With two fuch foes as these

Must have look'd for a total defeat.

Her blooming cheeks are dy'd
With colour all their own,
Excelling far the pride
Of roses newly blown.
Her well-turn'd limbs confess
The lucky hand of Jove;
Her features all exprefs

The beauteous queen of love;
What flames my nerves invade,
When I behold the breaft
Of that too-charming maid
Rife, fuing to be preft?
Venus round Fanny's waift,

Has her own Ceftus bound, There guardian Cupids grace, And dance the circle round, How happy must he be

Who fhall her zone uniofe! That blifs to all, but me, May heaven and the refuse!

-470

COME thou rofy dimpled boy,
Source of every heart-felt joy;
Leave the blissful bow'rs awhile,
Paphos, and the Cyprian ifle;
Vifit Britain's rocky shore,
Britons, too, thy pow'r adore;
Britons, hardy, bold and free,
Own thy laws, and yield to thee,
Source of every heart-fel: joy,
Come, thau rofy dimpled boy.
Hafte to Sylvia, hafte away,
This is thine and Hymen's day;
Bid her thy foft bandage wear,
Bid her for love's rites grepare;
Let the nymphs, with many a flow's,
Deck the facred nuptial bow'r,
Thither lead the lovely fair,
And let Hymen, too, be there:
This is thine and Hymen's day i
Hafe to Sylvia, hatte away.

Only while we love we live,
Love alone can pleasure give;
Pow'r, and pomp, and tinfel state,
Idle pageants of the great;
Crowns and Scepters, envy'd things,
And the pride of eastern kings,
Are but child fh, empty toys,
When compar'd to love's fweet joys,
Love alone can pleasure give;
Only while we love we live.

471

CUPID, thou waggish, artful boy,
What have I done to excite thy hate?
Oh! ever arm'd with cruelty,
Thus to precipitate my fate.

I faw, I lov'd, I am undone,
She at each vifit feems more coy,
You urchin! fneering at my moan,
Half promife blifs, and half deny.
The wound you give, admits no cure,
Till time has thaw'd her frozen heart,
Jenny can life or death enfure,

Jenny! my foul's far dearer part.
With equal force once twang the bow,
Transfix the charmer, let her bleed;
The feeds of love fecurely fow,

And clear the foil of ev'ry weed. Were I, thro' fome fierce tyrant's hate, Condemn'd to racks, the smiling fair Could blunt the keenest dart of fate, And from the dying chace despair. If pray'rs and tears are ftill in vain, Think not (proud chit) I dread your pow'r; Know, that to truckle I difdain,

Or fhrink, tho' all thy thunders roar,
If I muft die, the ftroke begin,

For I'm a man unusid to fear;
By Jenny's hand wreck all thy spleen,
I die content, to die by her.

474

SWEET are the charms of her I love, More fragrant than the damask role, Soft as the down of turtle dove,

Gentle as winds when Zephyr blows, Refreshing as defcending rains

To fun- burnt climes and thirsty plains. Frue as the needle to the pole,

Or as the dial to the fun, Conftant as gliding waters roll,

Whofe fwelling tides obey the moon ; From every other charmer free, My life and love shall follow thee. The lamb the flow'ry thyme devours, The dam the tender kid pursues, Sweet Philomel, in fhady bowers

Of verdant spring, her notes renews;

All follow what they most admire, is I purfue my foul's defire,

Nature must change her beauteous face,

And vary as the seasons rife; As winter to the spring gives place, Summer th' aproach of autumn flies: No change on love the feafons bring, Love only knows perpetual spring. Devouring time, with stealing pace, Makes lofty oaks and cedars bow; And marble towers, and walls of brafs, In his rude march he levels low: But time, deftroying far and wide, Love from the foul can ne er divide. Death only with his cruel dart

The gentle godhead can remove, And drive him from the bleeding heart, To mingle with the bleft above; Where, known to all his kindred train, He finds a lafting rest from pain. Love, and his fifter fair, the foul, Twin-born, together came : Love will the universe controul,

When dying feafons lofe their name; Divine abodes fhall own his pow'r, When time and death fhall be no more. 475

SWEET bud! to Laura's bofom go,

And live beneath her eye;
There, in the fun of beauty blow,
Or tafte of heaven and die.
Sweet earneft of the blooming year!
Whose dawning beauties (peak
The budding blush of fummer near,
The fummer on, her cheek!
Beft emblem of the nymph I love,

Refembling beauty's morn,
To Laura's bofom hafte, and prove
One rofe without a thorn.

476
THE fluggish morn, as yet undreft,
My Phillis broke from out her east,
As if he'd made her choice to run
With Venus, ulher to the fun :

The trees like yeomen of her guard,
And ferving more for pomp than ward,
Bank'd on each fide with loyal duty,
Wave branches to inclofe her beauty.
The waken'd earth in odours rife,
To be her morning facrifice;
The flowers, call'd out of their beds,
Start and raise up their drowsy heads;
And he that for their colour feeks,
May find it vaulting in her cheeks,
Where roses mix no civil war
Between her York and Lancaster.
Thefe miracles had crampt the fun,
Who thinking that his kingdom's won,
Powders with light his frizzi'd locks,
To fee what faint his luftre mocks:
The trembling leaves through which he play'd,
Dappling the walk with light and fhade,
Like lattice windows give the fpy
Room but to peep with half an eye.
But what religious palfy's this,

Which makes the boughs divet their bliss,
And that they might ber footstepa ftraw,
Drop their leaves with fhiv'ring awe.
Phillis perceives (and left her stay
Would wed December unto May)
Withdrew her beams, yet made no night,
But left the fun her curate light.

477

To the village in quest of a priest did we roam, By fortune's decree the grave don was at home; I gave him a fee to make one of us two, He marry'd us then-he had nought else to dò. E'er fince we've been happy, with peace & content Nor tafted the forrows of those who repent; Our neighbours all round us we love, and 'tis true Each other befide-when we've nought elfe to do. With Phoebus the toil of the day we begin, I fhepherd my flock, while he fits down to fpia; Our cares thus domeftick, we'll eager pursue, And ever will love when we've nought elfe to de "TWAS in that feafon of the year, 478 When all things gay and fweet appear, That Colin with the morning ray, Arofe and fung his rural lay, Of Nanny's charms the fhepherd fung, The hills and dales wish Nanny rung, While Roflin Castle heard the fwain, And echo'd back the chearful ftrain. Awake, fweet muse, the breathing spring With rapture warms, awake and fing; Awake and join the vocal throng, Who hail the morning with a fong! To Nanny raife the chearful lay; Oh! bid her tafle and come away, In fweetest fmiles herself adorn, And add new graces to the morn. Each feather'd warbler tones his lay; O bark! my love, on ev'ry spray, 'Tis beauty fires the ravish'd throng, And love infpires the melting fong, Then let my raptur'd notes arife, For beauty darts from Nanny's eyes, And love my rifing bofom warms, And fills my foul with fweet alarms. O come, my love, thy Colin's lay With rapture calls, O come away! Come while the mufe this wreath fhall twine, Around that modeft brow of thine ;

Arou

480

OH! where fhall I wander? how fhall I reveal? low conquer my fhame, or my paffion conceal? ho' fhe's not to blame, yet unhappy, I prove ll the jealoufies, fears, and the tortures of love: ly proud heart to fubdue, in vain has each maid he various allurements of beauty display'd; ill blythefome and free, have I travers'd the plain for found in their fmiles ei her pleasure or pain. ut now all the charms of indiff'rence are o'er, uite vanquish'd by love, I can triumph no more; at penfive and fad I fteal forth to the grove, hile my flocks on the mountains neglectfully rove: at why this delay to unbofom my grief, here only my anguish can hope for relief? ad ah! would my Florida fmile, I forefee

ich sweets in her bondage, 'twere pain to be free.

Spoils that nymphs and fwain's approve,
Soft as May and fweet as love.
Whilft a-down the flopy hill,
Trickles foft the purling rill,
Balmy fcents perfume the grove,
May unbends the foul to love.
Long the clay-cold maid denies,
Nor regards her shepherd's fighs;
Now your fond petitions move,
May's the feafon form'd for love,
On the fair that deck our isle,
Let each grace and virtue fmile,
And our happy shepherds prove
Days of eafe and nights of love.
482

NOT, Celia, that I jufter am,

Or truer then the reft;

For I would change each hour, like them, Were it my intereft.

But I am fix'd alone to thee

By every thought I have That should you now my heart fet free, 'Twould be again your flave.

All that in woman is ador'd,

In thy dear felf I find;
For the whole fex can but afford
The handfome, and the kind.
Not to my virtue, but thy power,
This conftancy is due,
When change itself can give no more
'Tis easy to be true.

483 My mufe infpire me to impart

In humble ardent ftrain,
To tell the anguifh of my heart

To her that gives me pain. 'Tis Delia is the lovely maid;

Alas! thou charming fair, Behold thy Damon feks thy aid, To cafe his pain and care.

Y