Yours, the best Copy of th' Original Face,
Whose Beauty was to furnish all the Race:
Such Chains no Author cou'd escape but He,
There's no Way to be safe, but not to fee.

ΤΟ ΤΗΕ

LADY DURSLEY,

On the fame Subject.

ERE reading how fond Adam was betray'd,

HR

And how by Sin Eve's blafted Charms decay'd;

Our common Lofs unjustly you complain;

So fmall that Part of it which

you fuftain,

You still, fair Mother, in your Offspring trace The Stock of Beauty deftin'd for the Race:

Kind Nature forming them, the Pattern took
From Heav'n's firft Work, and Eve's Original Look.

You, happy Saint, the Serpent's Pow'r controul,

Scarce any actual Guilt defiles your Soul:

And

And Hell does o'er that Mind vain Triumph boaft, Which gains a Heav'n, for earthly Eden loft.

With Virtue ftrong as yours had Eve been arm'd, In vain the Fruit had blush'd, or Serpent charm'd; Nor had our Bliss by Penitence been bought ; Nor had frail Adam fall'n, nor Milton wrote,

то

My Lord BUCKHURST, Very Young,

T

Playing with a CA T.

HE am'rous Youth, whofe tender Breaft
Was by his darling Cat poffeft,

Obtain'd of Venus his Defire,
Howe'er irregular his Fire :
Nature the Pow'r of Love obey'd,
The Cat became a blushing Maid;

And

And on the happy Change, the Boy
Imploy'd his Wonder, and his Joy.

Take care, O beauteous Child, take care
Left thou prefer fo rash a Pray'r :
Nor vainly hope the Queen of Love
Will e'er thy Fav'rite's Charms improve.
O quickly from her Shrine retreat,
Or tremble for thy Darling's Fate.

The Queen of Love, who foon will fee
Her own Adonis live in thee,

Will lightly her first Loss deplore;
Will eafily forgive the Boar :

Her Eyes with Tears no more will flow,
With jealous Rage her Breaft will glow,
And on her tabby Rival's Face,

She deep will mark her new Disgrace.

An

AnOOD EA

[guefs

HILE from our Looks, fair Nymph, you

W The

The secret Paffions of our Mind

My heavy Eyes, you say, confefs

A Heart to Love and Grief inclin'd.

There needs, alas! but little Art,

To have this fatal Secret found:

With the fame Ease you threw the Dart,
'Tis certain you may show the Wound.

How can I fee you, and not love,

While you as op'ning Eaft are fair? While cold as Northern Blafts you prove, How can I love and not despair?

The Wretch in double Fetters bound

Your Potent Mercy may release:

Soon, if my Love but once were crown'd,
Fair Prophetefs, my Grief would ceafe.

A

Γ

ASON G.

N vain you tell your parting Lover,

You wish fair Winds may waft him over.

Alas, what Winds can happy prove,

That bear me far from what I love?

Alas, what Dangers on the Main
Can equal those that I sustain,
From flighted Vows, and cold Difdain

Be gentle, and in Pity choose
To wish the wildeft Tempefts loose
That thrown again upon the Coaft,
Where first my Shipwrackt Heart was lost
Ι may once more repeat my Pain,
Once more in dying Notes complain,
Of flighted Vows, and cold Difdain.

THE

T