III.

To be vext at a Trifle or two that I writ,

Your Judgment at once, and my Paffion You wrong: You take that for Fact, which will scarce be found Wit: Od's Life! muft One fwear to the Truth of a Song?

IV.

What I fpeak, my fair CLOB, and what I write, fhews

The Diff'rence there is betwixt Nature and Art:

I court others in Verfe; but I love Thee in Profe:

And They have my Whimfies; but Thou haft my Heart. V...

The God of us Verfe-men (You know Child) the SUN,
How after his Journeys He fets up his Reft:

If at Morning o'er Earth 'tis his Fancy to run;
At Night he reclines on his THETIS's Breast.
VI.

So when I am weary'd with wand'ring all Day;
To Thee my Delight in the Evening I come:
No Matter what Beauties I saw in my Way:

They were but my Vifits; but Thou art my Home.
VII.

Then finish, Dear CLOB, this Pastoral War;
And let us like HORACE and LYDIA agree:
For Thou art a Girl as much brighter than Her,
As He was a Poet fublimer than Me.

PALLAS and VENUS.

A N

EPIGRAM.

HE TROJAN Swain had judg'd the great Difpute;

THE

And Beauty's Pow'r obtain'd the Golden Fruit; When VENUs, loose in all Her naked Charms, Met Jove's great Daughter clad in fhining Arms. The wanton Goddess view'd the Warlike Maid From Head to Foot, and Tauntingly She faid:

Yield, Sifter; Rival, yield: Naked, You fee,
I vanquifh: Guefs how Potent I should be;
If to the Field I came in Armour dreft;

Dreadful, like Thine, my Shield, and terrible my Crest.

The Warrior Goddefs with Difdain reply'd ;
Thy Folly, Child, is equal to thy Pride:
Let a brave Enemy for once advise,
And VENUS (if 'tis poffible) be Wife.

Thou to be strong must put off every Dress:
Thy only Armour is thy Nakedness:

And more than once, (or Thou art much bely'd)

By MARS himself That Armour has been try'd.

ΤΟ

FROM publick Noife and factious Strife,

From all the bufie Ills of Life,

Take me, My CELIA, to Thy Breast;
And lull my wearied Soul to Reft;
For ever, in this humble Cell,

Let Thee and I, my Fair One, dwell;
None enter elfe, but LovE- and He
Shall bar the Door, and keep the Key.

To painted Roofs, and fhining Spires
(Uneafie Seats of high Defires)
Let the unthinking Many croud,
That dare be Covetous and Proud:
In golden Bondage let Them wait,
And barter Happiness for State:

But Oh! My CELIA, when Thy Swain
Defires to fee a Court again;

May Heav'n around This deftin'd Head
The choiceft of it's Curfes fhed:

To fum up all the Rage of Fate,
In the Two Things I dread and hate;
May'st Thou be Falfe, and I be Great.

Thus,

Thus, on his CELIA's panting Breast, Fond CELADON his Soul exprest; While with Delight the lovely Maid Receiv'd the Vows, She thus repaid:

Hope of my Age, Joy of my Youth,
Bleft Miracle of Love and Truth!
All that cou'd e'er be counted Mine,
My Love and Life long fince are Thine:
A real Joy I never knew ;

'Till I believ'd Thy Paffion true:
A real Grief I ne'er can find;
'Till Thou prov'ft Perjur'd or Unkind.
Contempt, and Poverty, and Care,
All we abhor, and all we fear,
Bleft with Thy Prefence, I can bear.
Thro' Waters, and thro' Flames I'll go,
Suff'rer and Solace of Thy Woe:
Trace Me fome yet unheard-of Way,
That I Thy Ardour may repay;
And make My conftant Paffion known,
By more than Woman yet has done.

Had I a Wifh that did not bear
The Stamp and Image of my Dear;
I'd pierce my Heart thro' ev'ry Vein,
And Die to let it out again.
No: VENUS fhall my Witness be,
(If VENUS ever lov'd like Me)

That

That for one Hour I wou'd not quit
My Shepherd's Arms, and this Retreat,
To be the PERSIAN Monarch's Bride,
Part'ner of all his Pow'r and Pride;
Or Rule in Regal State above,
Mother of Gods, and Wife of Jove.

O happy thefe of Human Race!
But foon, alas! our Pleasures pass.

He thank'd her on his bended Knee;
Then drank a Quart of Milk and Tea ;

And leaving her ador'd Embrace,
Haften'd to Court, to beg a Place.
While She, his Abfence to bemoan,
The very Moment He was gone,

Call'd THYRSIS from beneath the Bed;
Where all this time He had been hid.

MORA L

WHILE Men have these Ambitious Fancies ;

And wanton Wenches read Romances;

Our Sex will----What? Out with it. Lye;

And Their's in equal Strains reply.

The Moral of the Tale I fing

(A Pofy for a Wedding Ring)
In this short Verfe will be confin'd:
Love is a Jeft; and Vows are Wind.

Dd:

:

AN