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Youth on silent wings is flown :
Spare my age, unfit for arms:
Potent Venus, bid thy son
Yet, Venus, why do I each morn prepare The fragrant wreath for Cloe's hair? Why, why do I all day lament and sigh, Unless the beauteous maid be nigh'? And why all night pursue her in my dreams, 2. Through flowery meads and crystal streams?
Thus sung the bard; and thus the goddess spoke:
Bid thy destin'd lyre discover
Often praise, and always love her: 30
Verse shall please, and sighs shall move her, Cupid does with Phoebus reign.
HER RIGHT NAME.
ByS Nancy at her toilet sat, Admiring this, and blaming that; Tell me, she said; but tell me true; Go The nymph who could your heart subdue. What sort of charms does she possess? Absolve me, fair one: I’ll confess, With pleasure, I replied. Her hair, In ringlets rather dark than fair, Does down her ivory bosom roll, And, hiding half, adorns the whole. 10 In her high forehead's fair half round Love sits in open triumph crown'd: He in the dimple of her chin, In private state by friends is seen. Her eyes are neither black nor gray; Nor fierce nor feeble is their ray; Their dubious lustre seems to show Something that speaks nor yes nor no. Her lips no living bard, I weet, May say, how red, how round, how sweet: 0 Old Homer only could indite Their vagrant grace and soft delight: They stand recorded in his book, When Helen smil'd, and Hebe spoke—
The gipsy, turning to her glass,
LINES WRITTEN IN AN OVID." '
WID is the the surest guide,
A TRUE MAID.
*O, no; for my virginity,
- When I lose that, says Rose, I’ll die:
Behind the elms, last night, cried Dick,
* Translated from the following Madrigal of Gilbert, sur l’Art d'Aimer d’Ovide.
Cette lecture est sans égale,
EN months after Florimel happen'd te wed, r
And was brought in a laudable manner
She warbled her groans with so charming a voice,
once squeal. Learn, husbands, from hence, for the peace of your
lives, That maids make not half such a tumult as wives.
A REASONABLE AFFLICTION.
§ N his death-bed poor Lubin lies;
His spouse is in despair:
§ With frequent sobs, and mutual cries,
A different cause, says parson Sly,
Poor Lubin fears that he shall die;
jo ROM her own native France as old Alison past, She reproach'd English Nell with neglect or with malice, That the slattern had left, in the hurry and haste. Her lady's complexion and eye-brows at Calais.
; ER eye-brow box one morning lost,
(The best of folks are oftenest crost)
Sad Helen thus to Jenny said,
ON THE SAME SUBJECT.
§§§ N a dark corner of the house
- Poor Helen sits, and sobs and cries; * She will not see her loving spouse, Nor her more dear picquet-allies: Unless she finds her eyebrows, She'll e'en weep out her eyes.