T'

The ADVICE.

HE lafs that wou'd know how to manage a man,
Let her liften, and learn from me,

His courage to quell, or his heart to trepan,
As the time and occafions agree.

The girl that has beauty, tho' finall be her wit,
May wheedle the clown, or the beau:

The rake may repel; or may draw in the cit

By the ufe of that pretty word no.

When the powder'd tupées in crowds round her chat, Each striving his paffion to fhow;

With kiss me, and love me, my dear, and all that,

Let her answer be ftill, no, no, no.

ཀp? 6!,{G* When a dofe is contriv'd to lay virtue afleep,

A prefent, a treat, or a ball;

She still must refufe, if her empire she'd keep,
And no-be her answer to all.

But when master dapper-wit offers his hand,
Her partner in
wedlock to go;
A house, and a coach, and a jointure in land,

She's an idiot if then the fays no.

When e'er she's attack'd by a youth full of charms,
Whofe courtship proclaims him a man;

When preft to his bofom, and clafp'd in his arms,
Then let her fay no if she can.

W

Ho can refift my Celia's charms?
Her beauty wounds, her wit difarms;
When these their mighty forces join,
What heart's fo strong but muft refign?

Love feems to promife in her eyes
A kind and lafting age of joys:
But have a care, their treason fhun;
I look'd, believ'd, and was undone.

In vain a thousand ways I ftrive
To keep my fainting hopes alive;
My love can never find reward,
Since pride and honour are her guard.

In prophecies told

The cause of a nation's undoing;*

But our new English breed,

No prophecies need,

For cach man here feeks his own ruin.

By grumbling and jars

We promote civil wars,
And preach up falfe tenets to many;
We fnarl and we bite,

We rail and we fight

For religion; yet no man has any.

'Then him let's commend,

That's true to his friend,

And the church and the fenate wou'd fettle;

Who delights not in blood,

But draws when he shou'd,
And, bravely, ftands brunt to the battle.

Who rails not at kings,

Nor politick things,

Nor treafon does talk when he's mellow;

But takes a full glass

To his country's fuccefs;

This, this is the honeft brave fellow.

HAT ftate of life can be fo bleft

WH

As love, that warms a lover's breaft?
Two fouls in one, the fame defire
To grant the blifs, and to require:
But if in heav'n a hell we find,
"Tis all from thee,

O jealoufie!

"Tis all from thee,

O jealoufie!

Thou tyrant, tyrant jealousie,
Thou tyrant of the mind!

All other ills, tho' fhar they prove,
Serve to refine and perfect love:
In absence, or unkind difdain,

Sweet hope relieves the lover's pain:
But ah! no cure but death we find,
To fet us free

From jealoufie:
O jealoufie! &c.

Falfe in thy glass all objects are, Some fet too near, and fome too far: Thou art the fire of endless night, The fire that burns, and gives no light.

All

All torments of the damn'd we find

In only thee,

O jealoufie!

Thou tyrant, tyrant jealousie,
Thou tyrant of the mind.

HERE is one dark and fullen hour

Twhich fate decrees our lives fhou'd know;
Elfe we fhou'd flight th' almighty power,
Wrapt in the joy we find below:

"Tis paft; dear Cynthia, now let frowns begone,
A long long penance I have done,

For crimes, alas! to me unknown.

In each foft hour of filent night
Your image in my dream appears,
I grafp the foul of my delight,

Slumber in joys, but wake in tears.

Ah! faithlefs, charming faint, what will you do?
Let me not think I am by you

Lov'd lefs for being true.

'GAINST