RECIT. Yet, Venus, why do I each morn prepare Unless the beauteous maid be nigh? And why all night pursue her in my dreams, RECIT. Thus sung the bard; and thus the goddess spoke: Shall own my rule, and fear my rage: ARIET. Bid thy destin❜d lyre discover Soft desire and gentle pain: Often praise, and always love her: Through her ear, her heart obtain. Verse shall please, and sighs shall move her, Cupid does with Phoebus reign. LINES WRITTEN IN AN OVID.1 OVID is the surest guide You can name to show the way Who resolves to go astray. A TRUE MAID. No, no; for my virginity, When I lose that, says Rose, I'll die: 1 Translated from the following Madrigal of Gilbert, sur l'Art d'Aimer d'Ovide. A PHILIS. Cette lecture est sans égale, ANOTHER. TEN months after Florimel happen'd to wed, noise ; 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. On his death-bead poor Lubin lies; With frequent sobs, and mutual cries, A different cause, says parson Sly, ANOTHER. FROM her own native France as old Alison past, That the slattern had left, in the hurry and haste, ANOTHER. HER eye-brow box one morning lost, ON THE SAME SUBJECT. IN a dark corner of the house Poor Helen sits, and sobs and cries; VOL. I. i ON THE SAME SUBJECT. HELEN was just slipt into bed: Her eye-brows on the toilet lay: Away the kitten with them fled, As fees belonging to her prey. For this misfortune careless Jane, Assure yourself, was loudly rated: And madam, getting up again, With her own hand the mouse-trap baited. On little things, as sages write, Depends our human joy or sorrow: If we don't catch a mouse to-night, Alas! no eye-brows for to-morrow. PHILLIS'S AGE. How old may Phillis be, you ask, Whose beauty thus all hearts engages? To answer is no easy task: Stiff in brocade, and pinch'd in stays, Her patches, paint, and jewels on; All day let envy view her face, |