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In her high forehead's fair half round
Love fits in open triumph crown'd:
He in the dimple of her chin,
In private state, by friends is feen.

Her eyes are neither black, nor gray;
Nor fierce, nor feeble is their

ray:

Their dubious luftre feems to fhow
Something that fpeaks nor yes, nor no.
Her lips no living bard, I weet,

May fay how red, how round, how sweet:
Old Homer only could indite

Their vagrant grace, and soft delight:
They ftand recorded in his book,

When Helen fmil'd, and Hebe spoke-
The gipfy turning to her glass,

Too plainly show'd, the knew the face:
And which am I moft like, fhe faid,
Your Cloe, or your Nut-brown maid?

Ο

Written in an OVID.

VID is the fureft guide
You can name to fhow the way

To any woman, maid, or bride,
Who refolves to go aftray.

A TRUE MAID.

No, no: for my virginity,

When I lose that, fays Rofe, I'll die:

Behind the elms, laft night, cry'd Dick,

Rofe, were you not extremely fick?

T

ANOTHER.

EN months after Florimel happen'd to wed,

And was brought in a laudable manner to bed, She warbled her groans with fo charming a voice, That one half of the parish was stun'd with the noife. But when Florimel deign'd to lie privately in,

Ten months before she and her spouse were a-kin ; She chofe with fuch prudence her pangs to conceal, That her nurse, nay her midwife, fcarce heard her once fqueal,

[lives, Learn, hufbands,, from hence, for the peace of your That maids make not half fuch a tumult as wives.

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A REASONABLE AFFLICTION.

N his death-bed poor Lubin lies;
His fpoufe is in despair!

With frequent fobs, and mutual cries,,
They both exprefs their care.

A diff'rent cause, fays parfon Sly,
The fame effect may give :
Poor Lubin fears, that he fhall die;

His wife, that he may live.

ANOTHER REASONABLE AFFLICTION.

FR

ROM her own native France as old Alifon past,
She reproach'd English Nell with neglect.or
with malice,

That the flattern had left in the hurry and hafte,
Her lady's complexion, and eye-brows at Calais.

H

ANOTHER

ER eye brow box one morning loft, (The best of folks are oft'neft croft). Sad Helen thus to Jenny faid,

Her careless but afflicted maid;
Put me to bed then, wretched Jane:
Alas! when. fhall I rife again?

I can behold no mortal now:
For what's an eye without a brow?

I

ON THE SAME SUBJECT.

Na dark corner of the house

Poor Helen fits, and fobs and cries;
She will not fee her loving spouse,
Nor her more dear picquet-allies :
Unless the finds her eye-brows,
She'll e'en weep.out her eyes..

H

ON THE SAME:

'ELEN was juft flipt 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 fages write, Depends our human joy, or forrow: If we don't catch a mouse to-night, Alas! no eye-brows for to-morrow.

H

PHYLLIS'S AGE.

OW old may Phyllis be, you ask,
Whofe beauty thus all hearts engages

To answer is no easy task:

For fhe has really two ages.

Stiff in brocard, and pinch'd in stays;
Her patches, paint, and jewels-on ;
All day let envy view her face;
And Phyllis is but twenty one.

Paint, patches, jewels laid aside,
At night aftronomers agree,
The evening has the day bely'd;
And Phyllis is fome forty-three.

: Forma bonum fragile.

WHAT a frail thing is beauty, fays Baron la Crass

Perceiving his miftrefs had one eye of glafs:
And scarcely had he spoke it ;

When the more confus'd, as more angry fhe grew,
By a negligent rage prov'd the maxim too true;
She dropt the eye, and broke it.

A critical moment:

WOW capricious were nature and art to poor

How Nell?

She was painting her cheeks at the time her nose fell.

V

AN EPIGRAM.

Written to the Duke de NOAILLES.

AIN the concern which you express,.
That uncall'd Alard will poffefs

Your house and coach both day and night,
And that Macbeth was haunted lefs
By Banquo's restless spright.

With fifteen thousand pounds a-year,
Do you complain you cannot bear
An ill, you may foon retrieve?
Good Alard, faith, is modefter
By much than you believe.

Lend him but fifty Louis' d'or;
And you shall never see him more:
Take the advice: probatum eft.
Why do the gods indulge our store,
But to fecure our rest?

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