USTOM, alas! doth partial prove,
Nor gives us even measure :
To maids it is a pain to love,
But 'tis to men a pleasure.
They freely can their thoughts explain, Whilft ours must burn within :
We have got eyes and tongues in vain,
And truth from us is fin.
Men to new joys and conquefts fly,
And yet no hazard run:
Poor we are left if we deny;
Or if we yield, undone.
Then equal laws let cuftom find,
Nor either fex oppress:
More freedom give to womankind,
Or give to mankind less.
EAR, ye ladies that despise
What the mighty love has done,
Fear examples, and be wife,
Fair Califto was a nun.
Lada, failing on the Stream,
To deceive the hopes of man,
Love accounting but a dream,
Doated on a filver fwan;
Danaë, in a brazen tower,
Where no love was, lov'd a fhower.
Hear, ye ladies that are coy,
What the mighty love can do,
Fear the fierceness of the boy,
The chafte moon he makes to wooe;
Vefta, kindling holy fires,
Circled round about with spies,
Never dreaming loofe defires,
Doting at the altar dies: Ilion, in a fhort hour, higher
He can build, and once more fire.
HEN I fee the bright nymph who my heart When I view her foft eyes; her languishing air; Her merit fo great; my own merit fo small;
It makes me adore; and it makes me despair.
But when I confider, that fhe fquanders on fools
All those treasures of beauty with which she is stor'd; My fancy it damps, my paffion it cools,
And it makes me defpife what before I ador❜d.
Thus fometimes I defpair, and fometimes I defpife;
I love, and I hate, but I never esteem;
The paffion grows up, when I view her bright eyes;
Which my rivals destroy, when I look upon them.
How wifely does nature things diff'rent unite!
In fuch odd compofitions our fafety is found;
As the blood of the fcorpion is a cure for the bite,
So her folly makes whole whom her beauty does
HEN I court thee, dear Molly, to grant me the bliss, With a fqueeze by the hand, and then with a kiss; You, like an arch baggage, for ever reply,
In the fame loving mood, can you live, sir, and die?
Then you ask me, how long this same passion will last,
And if I shan't cool, when the moment is past?
Such queftions as thefe might e'en damp a beginner,
And muft certainly puzzle an old batter'd finner.
But to fhew you, for once, how much I despise
To tell you, like some men, a thousand damn'd lyes,
My mind, dearest girl, in few words you fhall know,
And if, on those terms, you think well of it, fo;
If not, for my part, I fhall ne'er take it ill,
For if one woman won't, there are thoufands that will.
That I like you at present, you never can doubt;
For what do I take all this trouble about?
That my paffion is real, and void of disguise,
You may feel by my pulfe; you may read in my eyes:
When these roll so fast, and that beats so quick,
The deuce, must be in't, if it's all but a trick.
Thy fresh ruddy lips, and thy teeth all fo white,
Thy round tempting bubbies, which heave with delights
Thy trim taper shape, and thy dear little feet,
Thy voice that's so soft, and thy breath that's so sweet,
Thy bright beaming eyes, and thy gay golden hair,
Provoke a fenfation too killing to bear;
Above or below nothing faulty is feen,
And, faith I dare answer for what lies between,
So many rare charms furely never can cloy,
But night after night, wou'd afford one new joy;
Methinks, in my paffion, I never cou'd vary,
If a thousand examples didn't prove the contrary:
For, like other men, I am but flesh and blood;
Yet, if I'm no better, I hope I'm as good;
Then fince, deareft Molly, any one whom you
take,
Is as likely as me, to prove falfe and forfake,
If you e'er run the hazard, let me be your man,
And I'll love you as much, and as long as I can.
We'll toy, ramp, and revel, we'll bill, and we'll coo,
And do every thing else, which young lovers do.
But if, upon tryal, and often repeating,
(For the proof of the pudding's, you know, in the eating)
Your paffion or mine from the biass fhou'd run,
As in crouds of each fex it already has done;
Shou'd we grow cool and civil, why e'en let us part,
Nor strive to keep up a dull paffion by art;
For 'tis folly, 'tis nonfenfe, our nature to force,
As fpurring a jade only makes her the worfe:
At formal restraint let us neither repine,
But give back my heart, and I'll return thine.
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