XXXIII.

Bright fwords, and crested helms, and pointed spears
In artful piles around the work shall lie;
And shields indented deep in ancient wars,
Blazon'd with figns of Gallic heraldry;

And standards with distinguish'd honours bright,
Marks of high pow'r and national command,
Which Valois' fons, and Bourbon's bore in fight,
Or gave to Foix', or Montmorancy's hand:
Great fpoils, which Gallia must to Britain yield,
From Crey's battle fav'd, to grace Ramilia's field.
XXXIV.

And as fine art the spaces may difpose,
The knowing thought and curious eye shall fee
Thy emblem, gracious Queen, the British role,
Type of fweet rule, and gentle majesty:
The Northern thiftle, whom no hostile hand
Unhurt too rudely may provoke, I ween;
Hibernia's harp, device of her command,
And parent of her mirth, shall there be seen:
Thy vanquish'd lillies, France, decay'd and torn,
Shall with disorder'd pomp the lasting work adorn.
XXXV.

Beneath, great Queen, oh! very far beneath,
Near to the ground, and on the humble base,
To fave herself from darkness, and from death,
That Mufe defires the laft, the lowest place;

Who tho' unmeet, yet touch'd the trembling string;
For the fair fame of Anne and Albion's land,
Who durft of war and martial fury fing:

And when thy will, and when thy fubject's hand
Had quell'd thofe wars, and bid that fury cease;
Hangs up her grateful harp to conquest, and to peace.

CANT AT A.

Set by Monfieur GALLIARD.

RECIT.

BENEATH a verdant lawrel's ample shade,

His lyre to mournful numbers strung,
Horace, immortal bard, supinely laid,
To Venus thus addrefs'd the fong:
Ten thousand little Loves around

Lift'ning, dwelt on ev'ry found.
ARIE T.

Potent Venus, bid thy fon

Sound no more his dire alarms. Youth on filent wings is flown: Graver years come rolling on. Spare my age, unfit for arms: Safe and humble let me reft, From all am'rous care releas'd.

Potent Venus, bid thy fon

Sound no more his dire alarms.

RECI T.

Yet, Venus, why do I each morn prepare

The fragrant wreath for Cloe's hair?

Why do I all day lament and figh,
Unless the beauteous maid be nigh?

And why all night pursue her in my dreams,
Thro' flow'ry meads, and crystal streams?

RECIT.

Thus fung the bard; and thus the goddess spoke: Submiffive bow to Love's imperious yoke:

Ev'ry ftate, and ev'ry 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.

ARIE T.

Bid thy deftin'd lyre discover

Soft defire, and gentle pain:

Often praise, and always love her:
Thro' her ear her heart obtain.

Verse shall please, and fighs shall move her:
Cupid does with Phoebus reign.

A

HER RIGHT NAME.

S Nancy at her toilet fat,

Admiring this, and blaming that;

Tell me, fhe faid; but tell me true;

The nymph who cou'd your heart fubdue,
What fort of charms does fhe poffefs?
Abfolve me, fair one I'll confefs;
With pleasure I reply'd. Her hair,
In ringlets rather dark than fair,
Does down her iv'ry bofom roll,
And hiding half, adorns the whole,
In her high forehead's fair half-round
Love fits in open triumph crown'd:
He in the dimple of her chin,
In private state, by friends is feen.
Her eyes are neither black, nor gray;
Nor fierce, nor feeble is their ray:
Their dubious luftre feems to fhow
Something that speaks nor yes, nor no,

Her lips no living bard, I weet,

May fay, how red, how round, how sweet:

Old Homer only cou'd indite

Their vagrant grace, and foft delight:

They ftand recorded in his book,
When Helen fmil'd, and Hebe (poke
The gipfy turning to her glass,

Too plainly show'd, fhe knew the face:
And which am I most like, she said,
Your Cloe, or your Nut-brown Maid?

Written in an OVID.

VID is the fureft guide,

You can name, to show the way

To any woman, maid, or bride,
Who refolves to go aftray.

A TRUE MAID.

No, no; for my virginity,

When I lofe that, fays Rofe, I'll die:
Behind the elms, last night, cry'd Dick,
Rofe, were you not extremely fick?

ANOTHER.

EN months after Florimel happen'd to wed,

TE

And was brought in a laudable manner to bed: She warbled her groans with so charming a voice, That one half of the parish was stun'd with the noife.

But when Florimel deign'd to lie privately in,
Ten months before she and her spouse were a-kin;
She chofe with fuch prudence her pangs to conceal,

That her nurse, nay her midwife, fcarce heard her once

fqueal.

Learn, husbands, from hence, for the peace of your lives, That maids make not half such a tumult, as wives.

Ο

A REASONABLE AFFLICTION.

N his death-bed

His spouse is in despair :

With frequent fobs, and mutual cries,
They both exprefs their care.

A diff'rent cause, says parfon Sly,
The fame effect may give:
Poor Lubin fears, that he shall die;
His wife, that he may live.

ANOTHER REASONABLE AFFLICTION.

ROM her own native France as old Alison past,

FR

She reproach'd English Nell with neglect or with malice,

That the flattern had left in the hurry and hast,

Her lady's complexion, and eye-brows at Calais.

ANOTHER.

'ER eye-brow-box ́one morning loft,
(The best of folks are oft'nest croft)

Sad Helen thus to Jenny faid,

Her careless but afflicted maid;