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Youth on silent wings is flown :
Graver years come rolling on. 10

Spare my age, unfit for arms:
Safe and humble let me rest,
From all amorous care releas'd.

Potent Venus, bid thy son
Sound no more his dire alarms.

RECIT.

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?

RECIT.

Thus sung the bard; and thus the goddess spoke:
Submissive bow to Love's imperious yoke:
Every state, and every age
Shall own my rule, and fear my rage:
Compell'd by me, thy Muse shall prove,
That all the world was born to love.

ARIET.

Bid thy destin'd lyre discover
Soft desire and gentle pain:

Often praise, and always love her: 30
Through her ear, her heart obtain.

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—

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The gipsy, turning to her glass,
Too plainly show'd she knew the face;
And which am I most like, she said,
Your Cloe, or your Nut-brown Maid?

LINES WRITTEN IN AN OVID." '

WID is the the surest guide,
§ You can name, to show the way
To any woman, maid, or bride,
Who resolves to go astray.

A TRUE MAID.

*O, no; for my virginity,

- When I lose that, says Rose, I’ll die:

Behind the elms, last night, cried Dick,
Rose, were you not extremely sick?

* Translated from the following Madrigal of Gilbert, sur l’Art d'Aimer d’Ovide.

A philise

Cette lecture est sans égale,
Ce livre est un petit dédale,
Où l'esprit prend plaisir d'errer,
Philis, suiver les pas d’Ovide,
C'est le plus agréable guide,
Qu'on peut choisir pours'égarer.

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ANOTHER.

EN months after Florimel happen'd te wed, r

And was brought in a laudable manner
to bed,

She warbled her groans with so charming a voice,
Thatonehalfostheparish wasstunn'd with thenoise;
But when Florimel deign'd to lie privately in,
Ten months before she and her spouse were a-kin,
She chose with such prudence her pangs to conceal,
That her nurse, nay, her midwife, scarce heard her

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,
They both express their care.

A different cause, says parson Sly,
The same effect may give:

Poor Lubin fears that he shall die;
His wife, that he may live.

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ANOTHER.

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.

ANOTHER.

; ER eye-brow box one morning lost,

(The best of folks are oftenest crost)

Sad Helen thus to Jenny said,
Her careless but afflicted maid,
Put me to bed then, wretched Jane;
Alas! when shall I rise again?
I can behold no mortal now :
For what's an eye without a brow?

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.

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