May Heaven around this deftin'd head

The choiceft of its 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, on his Celia's panting breast,
Fond Celadon his foul expreft;
While with delight the lovely maid
Receiv'd the vows the thus repaid

Hope of my age, joy of my youth,
Bleft miracle of love and truth;
All that could 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.
Through waters and through flames I'll go,
Sufferer and folace of thy woe:

Trace me fome yet unheard-of way,

That I thy ardour may repay;

And make my constant paffion known
By more than woman yet has done.

Had I a wifh that did not bear

The ftamp and image of my dear;
I'd pierce my heart through every vein,
And die, to let it out again..

}

No: Venus fhall my witness be
(If Venus ever lov'd like me),
That for one hour I would not quit
My fhepherd's arms, and this retreat,
To be the Perfian Monarch's bride,
Partner of all his power and pride;
Or rule in regal state above,
Mother of Gods, and wife of Jove.

"O happy these of human race!"
But foon, alas! our pleasures pafs.
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 fhe, his abfence to bemoan,
The very moment he was gone,
Call'd Thyrfis from beneath the bed!
Where all this time he had been hid.

W

MOR A L.

HILE men have these ambitious fancies;
And wanton wenches read romances;

Our fex will-What? Out with it. Lye;
And theirs in equal ftrains reply.

The moral of the tale I fing

(A pofy for a wedding ring)
In this fhort verfe will be confin'd:
Love is a jeft, and vows are wind.

AN ENGLISH PADLOCK.

ISS Danaë, when fair and young,

MISS

(As Horace has divinely fung)

Could not be kept from Jove's embrace
By doors of steel, and walls of brass.
The reafon of the thing is clear,
Would Jove the naked truth aver.
Cupid was with him of the party;
And fhew'd himself fincere and hearty;
For, give that whipfter but his errand,
He takes my lord chief justice' warrant;
Dauntless as death away he walks;
Breaks the doors open, fnaps the locks;
Searches the parlour, chamber, study;
Nor ftops till he has culprit's body.
Since this has been authentic truth,
By age deliver'd down to youth;
Tell us, mistaken husband, tell us,
Why fo mysterious, why so jealous?
Does the reftraint, the bolt, the bar,
Make us lefs curious, her lefs fair?
The (py, which does this treasure keep,
Does the ne'er fay her prayers, nor fleep?:
Does fhe to no excefs incline?

Does the fly mufic, mirth, and wine?
Or have not gold and flattery power
To purchase one unguarded hour?

Your

Your care does further yet extend:

That spy is guarded by your

friend.

But has this friend nor eye nor heart ?
May he not feel the cruel dart,

Which, foon or late, all mortals feel?
May he not, with too tender zeal,
Give the fair prisoner cause to fee,
How much he wishes fhe were free?
May he not craftily infer

The rules of friendship too fevere,
Which chain him to a hated truft;
Which make him wretched, to be juft?
And may not she, this darling she,
Youthful and healthy, flesh and blood,
Eafy with him, ill us❜d by thee,
Allow this logic to be good?
Sir, will your queftions never end?
I truft to neither fpy nor friend.
In fhort, I keep her from the fight
Of every human face.-She'll write.
From pen and paper fhe 's debarr'd.—
Has fhe a bodkin and a card?

She'll prick her mind.-She will, you say :
But how fhall fhe that mind convey?
I keep her in one room: I lock it:
The key (look here) is in this pocket.
The key-hole, is that left? Moft certain,
She'll thruft her letter through-Sir Martin.
Dear angry friend, what must be done?
Is there no way-There is but one,

Send her abroad: and let her fee,
That all this mingled mafs, which the,
Being forbidden, longs to know,
Is a dull farce, an empty show,
Powder, and pocket-glafs, and beau;
A ftaple of romance and lies,

False tears and real perjuries :

Where fighs and looks are bought and fold;
And love is made but to be told :

Where the fat bawd and lavish heir
The spoils of ruin'd beauty fhare;
And youth, feduc'd from friends and fame,
Muft give up age to want and shame.
Let her behold the frantic fcene,
The women wretched, falfe the men :
And when, thefe certain ills to fhun,
She would to thy embraces run;
Receive her with extended arms,
Seem more delighted with her charms;
Wait on her to the park and play,
Put on good-humour; make her gay;
Be to her virtues very kind;
Be to her faults a little blind;
Let all her ways be unconfin'd;
And clap your padlock-on her mind.

HANS