From ANACREON.
T dead of night, when stars appear,
And strong Boötes turns the Bear ;
When mortals fleep their cares away,
Fatigu'd with labours of the day,
Cupid was knocking at my gate;
Who's there! fays I, who knocks so late,
Disturbs my dreams, and breaks my reft?
O fear not me, a harmlefs guest,
He faid, but open, open pray;
A foolish child, I 've loft my way,
And wander here this moon-light night,
All wet and cold, and wanting light.
With due regard his voice I heard,
Then rofe, a ready lamp prepar'd,
And faw a naked Boy below,
With wings, a quiver, and a bow;
In hafte I ran, unlock'd my gate,
Secure and thoughtless of my
I fet the child an eafy chair
Againft the fire, and dry'd his hair;
Brought friendly cups of chearful wine,
And warm'd his little hands with mine..
All this did I with kind intent;
But he, on wanton mifchief bent,
Said, Dearest friend, this bow you fee,
This pretty bow belongs to me :
Obferve, I pray, if all be right;
I fear the rain has fpoil'd it quite.
He drew it then, and ftrait I found
Within my breast a secret wound.
This done, the rogue no longer staid,
But leapt away, and laughing said,
"Kind Hoft, adieu! we now must part;
"Safe is my bow, but fick thy heart!"
TO A POET OF QUALITY,
Praising the LADY HINCHINBROKE.
OF thy judicious Mufe's fenfe,
Young Hinchinbroke so very proud is, That Sachariffa and Hortenfe
She looks, henceforth, upon as dowdies. Yet the to one must still submit,
To dear Mamma must pay her duty,
She wonders, prafing Wilmot's wit,
Thou should't forget his daughter's beauty.
YSANDER talks extremely well;
On any fubject let him dwell,
His tropes and figures will content ye:
He fhould poffefs to all degrees
The art of talk; he practifes
Full fourteen hours in four-and-twenty.
So good a Wife doth Liffy make,
That from all company the flieth;
Such virtuous courfes doth fhe take,
That the all evil tongues defieth;
And, for her deareft Spoufe's fake,
She with his Brethren only lieth.
IN CURABLE.
PHILLIS, you boaft of perfect health in vain,
And laugh at those who of their ills complain:
That with a frequent fever Chloe burns,
And Stella's plumpnefs into dropfy turns!
O Phillis, while the patients are nineteen,
Little, alas are their diftempers feen.
But thou, for all thy feeming health, art ill,
Beyond thy lover's hopes, or Blackmore's skill;
No lenitives can thy disease affuage,
I tell thee, 'tis incurable-'tis Age.
FORTUN E.
WHILST I in prifon or in court look down,
Nor beg thy favour, nor deferve thy frown,
In vain, malicious Fortune, haft thou try'd,
By taking from my ftate, to quell my pride :
Infulting girl! thy prefent rage abate;
And, would'st thou have me humbled, make me great.
NON PARE I L.
LET others from the town retire,
And in the fields feek new delight;
My Phillis does fuch joys inspire,
No other objects please my fight.
In her alone I find whate'er
Beauties a country landfchape grace :
No fhade fo lovely as her hair,
Nor plain fo fweet as in her face.
Lilies and roses there combine,
More beauteous than in flowery field;
Transparent is her skin so fine,
To this each cryftal ftream must lead.
Her voice more sweet than warbling found,
Though fung by nightingale or lark';
Her eyes fuch luftre dart around,'
Compar'd to them, the fun is dark.
Both light and vital heat they give;
Cherifh'd by them, my love takes root;
From her kind looks does life receive,
Grows a fair plant, bears flowers and fruit.
did once ween, The common parent of mankind; And made tranfgrefs our mother Eve: Poison its core, though fair its rind.
Yet fo delicious is its tafte,
I cannot from the bait abftain,
But to th' inchanting pleasure hafte,
Though I were fure 'twould end in pain.
́O—I'll endure ten thousand deaths,
Ere any farther I'll comply;
Oh! Sir, no man on earth that breathes
Had ever yet his hand so high!
Oh! take your sword, and pierce my heart,
Undaunted fee me meet the wound,
Oh! will you act a Tarquin's part?
A fecond Lucrece you have found.
Thus to the preffing Corydon,
Poor Florimel, unhappy maid!
Fearing by Love to be undone,
In broken dying accents faid.
Delia, who held the confcious door,
Infpir'd by truth and brandy, smil'd,
Knowing that, fixteen months before,
Our Lucrece had her fecond child.
And, hark ye! Madain, cry'd the Bawd,
None of your flights, your high-rope dodging
Be civil here, or march abroad;
Oblige the Squire, of quit the lodging.
Oh! have I-Florimel went on-
Have I then loft my Delia's aid?
Where fhall forfaken virtue run,
If by her friend the is betray'd?
Oh! curfe on empty friendship's name!
Lord, what is all our future view !
Then, dear deftroyer of my fame,
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