Unhappy child, who thus hast lost
All the estate we e'er could boast;
Whither, O whither wilt thou run,

Thy name despis'd, thy weakness known ?
Nor shall thy shrine on Earth be crown'd;
Nor shall thy power in Heaven be own'd;
When thou nor man nor god canst wound."
Obedient Cupid kneeling cried,
"Cease, dearest mother, cease to chide:
Gany's a cheat, and I'm a bubble:
Yet why this great excess of trouble?
The dice were false: the darts are gone:
Yet how are you, or I, undone?

The loss of these I can supply
With keener shafts from Cloe's eye:
Fear not we e'er can be disgrac'd
While that bright magazine shall last :
Your crowded altars still shall smoke;
And man your friendly aid invoke:
Jove shall again revere your power,
And rise a swan, or fall a shower.

CUPID MISTAKEN,

As after noon, one summer's day,
Venus stood bathing in a river;
Cupid a-shooting went that way,

New strung his bow, new fill'd his quiver.

With skill he chose his sharpest dart,
With all his might his bow he drew ;
Swift to his beauteous parent's heart
The too-well-guided arrow flew.

"I faint! I die!" the goddess cried:
"O cruel, could'st thou find none other,
To wreck thy spleen on? parricide!

Like Nero, thou hast slain thy mother." Poor Cupid sobbing scarce could speak ; Indeed, mamma, I did not know ye :

Alas! how easy my mistake!

I took you for your likeness Cloe."

66 Though none," said he, "shall yet be nam'd,
I know the felon well enough:
But be she not, Mamma, condemn'd
Without a fair and legal proof."

With that, his longest dart he took,
As constable would take his staff:
That gods desire like men to look,
Would make e'en Heraclitus laugh.
Love's subalterns, a duteous band,

Like watchmen, round their chief appear:

Each had his lantern in his hand;

And Venus mask'd brought up the rear.
Accoutred thus, their eager step
To Cloe's lodging they directed:
(At once I write, alas! and weep,
That Cloe is of theft suspected).
Late they set out, had far to go:

Cloe, for reasons good, you know,
St. Dunstan's as they pass'd struck one.

Lives at the sober end o' th' town.

With one great peal they rap the door,
Like footmen on a visiting-day.

Folks at her house at such an hour!
Lord! what will all the neighbours say?

The door is open up they run:
Nor prayers, nor threats, divert their speed
"Thieves! thieves!" cries Susan; we're undones

They'll kill my mistress in her bed."

In bed indeed the nymph had been
Three hours: for, all historians say,
She commonly went up at ten,

Unless piquet was in the way.

She wak'd, be sure, with strange surprise
O Cupid, is this right or law,
Thus to disturb the brightest eyes,
That ever slept, or ever saw

Have you observ'd a sitting hare,

Listening, and fearful of the storm Of horns and hounds, clap back her ear, Afraid to keep, or leave her form? Or have you mark'd a partridge quake, Viewing the towering falcon nigh? She cuddles low behind the brake:

Nor would she stay; nor dares she fly, Then have you seen the beauteous maid; When gazing on her midnight foes, She turn'd each way her frighted head,

Then sunk it deep beneath the clothes, Venus this while was in the chamber

Incognito: for Susan said,

It smelt so strong of myrrh and amber-
And Susan is no lying maid.

But, since we have no present need
Of Venus for an episode:
With Cupid let us e'en proceed;

And thus to Cloe spoke the god :

"Hold up your head: hold up your hand :
Would it were not my lot to show ye
This cruel writ, wherein you stand
Indicted by the name of Cloe!
"For that, by secret malice stirr'd,
Or by an emulous pride invited,
You have purloin'd the favourite bird,
In which my mother most delighted."
Her blushing face the lovely maid

Rais'd just above the milk-white sheet;
A rose-tree in a lily bed

Nor glows so red, nor breathes so sweet, "Are ye not he whom virgins fear,

And widows court? is not your name
Cupid? If so, pray come not near”—
"Fair maiden, I'm the very same."

"Then what have I, good sir, to say,
Or do with her you call mother?
your
If I should meet her in my way,
We hardly court'sy to each other,
"Diana chaste, and Hebe sweet,

Witness that what I speak is true:
I would not give my paroquet

For all the Doves that ever flew. "Yet, to compose this midnight noise,

Go freely search where-e'er you please, (The rage, that rais'd, adorn'd her voice) Upon yon toilet lie my keys "

Her keys he takes; her doors unlocks;

Through wardrobe and through closet bounces; Peeps into every chest and box;

Turns all her furbeloes and flounces.
But dove, depend on't, finds he none;
So to the bed returns again:
And now the maiden, bolder grown,
Begins to treat him with disdain.
" I marvel much," she smiling said,
"Your poultry cannot yet be found;
Lies he in yonder slipper dead?

Or, may be, in the tea-pot drown'd?”
"No, traitor," angry Love replies,

"He's hid somewhere about your breast;

A place nor god nor man denies,

For Venus's Dove the proper nest,”

A LOVER'S ANGER,

As Cloe came into the room t' other day,

I peevish began: Where so long could you stay?
In your life-time you never regarded your hour;
You promis'd at two; and (pray look child,) 'tis

four.

A lady's watch needs neither figures nor wheels:
'Tis enough, that 'tis loaded with baubles and seals,
A temper so heedless no mortal can bear-››
Thus far I went on with a resolute air.

[speak!" "Lord bless me !" said she; "let a body but Here's an ugly hard rose-bud fallen into my neck: It has hurt ine, and vext me to such a degreeSee here! for you never believe me; pray see, On the left side my breast, what a mark it has made!"

So saying, her bosom she careless display'd:
That seat of delight I with wonder survey'd
And forgot every word I design'd to have said,

MERCURY AND CUPID.
IN sullen humour one day Jove
Sent Hermes down to Ida's grove,
Commanding Cupid to deliver
His store of darts, his total quiver;
That Hermes should the weapons break,
Or throw them into Lethe's lake.

Hermes, you know, must do his errand
He found his man, produe'd his warrant :
"Cupid! your darts-this very hour-
There's no contending against power!"

How sullen Jupiter, just now,

I think I said; and you'll allow
That Cupid was as bad as he:
Hear but the youngster's repartee.

"Come, kinsman," said the little god,
"Put off your wings, lay by your rod;
Retire with me to yonder bower,
And rest yourself for half an hour:
'Tis far indeed from hence to Heaven;
But you fly fast: "and 'tis but seven.
We'll take one cooling cup of nectar;
And drink to this celestial Hector,

"He break my darts! or burt my power! He, Leda's swan and Danaë's shower! Go, bid him his wise tongue restrain, And mind his thunder, and his rain.→→ My darts! O certainly I'll give 'em : From Cloe's eyes he shall receive 'em

There's one, the best in all my quiver,
Twang! through his very heart and liver;
He then shall pine, and sigh, and rave:
Good Lord! what bustle shall we have!
Neptune must straight be sent to sea,
And Flora summon'd twice a day:
One must find shells, and t' other flowers,
For cooling grots, and fragrant bowers,
That Cloe may be serv'd in state,
The Hours must at her toilet wait:
Whilst all the reasoning fools below
Wonder their watches go too slow.
Lybs must fly south, and Eurus east,
For jewels for her hair and breast.
No matter, though their cruel haste
Sink cities, and lay forests waste.
No matter, though this fleet be lost;
Or that lie wind-bound on the coast.
What whispering in my mother's ear!
What care, that Juno should not hear!
What work among you scholar gods!
Phoebus must write him amorous odes.
And thou, poor cousin, must compose
His letters in submissive prose;
Whilst haughty Cloe, to sustain
The honour of my mystic reign,
Shall all his gifts and vows disdain,
And laugh at your old bully's pain."

"Dear couz," said Hermes, in a fright,

*For Heaven's sake! keep your darts! good night."

Here listening Cloe smil'd, and said:
"Your riddle is not hard to read:
I guess it."-" Fair one, if you do,
Need I, alas! the theme pursue?
For this, thou seest, for this I leave
Whate'er the world thinks wise or grave,
Ambition, business, friendship, news,
My useful books, and serious Muse.
For this, I willingly decline

The mirth of feasts, and joys of wine;
And choose to sit and talk with thee
(As thy great orders may decree)

Of cocks and bulls, and flutes and fiddles,
Of idle tales and foolish riddles."

THE QUESTION.

TO LISETTA.

WHAT
HAT nymph should I admire or trust,
But Cloe beauteous, Cloe just?
What nymph should I desire to see,
But her who leaves the plain for me?
To whom should I compose the lay,
But her who listens when I play?
To whom in song repeat my cares,
But her who in my sorrow shares?
For whom should I the garland make?
But her who joys the gift to take,
And boasts she wears it for my sake.
In love am I not fully blest?
Lisetta, pr'ythee tell the rest.

ON BEAUTY,

A RIDDLE,

RESOLVE me, Cloe, what is this:
Or forfeit me one precious kiss.
'Tis the first offspring of the Graces;
Bears different forms in different places;
Acknowledg'd fine, where'er beheld;
Yet fancied finer, when conceal'd.
'Twas Flora's wealth, and Circe's charm;
Pandora's box of good and harm:
'Twas Mars's wish, Endymion's dream;
Apelles' draught, and Ovid's theme.

This guided Theseus through the maze;
And sent him home with life and praise:
But this undid the Phrygian boy;
And blew the flames that ruin'd Troy.
This show'd great kindness to old Greece,
And help'd rich Jason to the fleece.

This through the East just vengeance hurl'd,
And lost poor Anthony the world.
Injur'd, though Lucrece found her doom,
This banish'd tyranny from Rome.
Appeas'd, though Iais gain'd her hire,
This set Persepolis on fire.
For this Alcides learn'd to spin:
His club laid down, and lion's skin.
For this Apollo deign'd to keep,
With servile care, a mortal's sheep.
For this the father of the gods,
Content to leave his high abodes,
In borrow'd figures loosely ran,
Europa's bull, and Leda's swan:
For this he re-assumes the nod,
(While Semele commands the god)
Launches the bolt, and shakes the poles:
Though Momus laughs, and Juno scolds,

LISETTA'S REPLY.

SURE Cloe just, and Cloe fair,
Deserves to be your only care:
But, when you and she today
Far into the wood did stray,
And I happen'd to pass by ;
Which way did you cast your eye?
But, when your cares to her you sing,
Yet dare not tell her whence they spring?
Does it not more afflict your heart,
That in those cares she bears a part?
When you the flowers for Cloe twine,
Why do you to her garland join
The meanest bud that falls from mine?
Simplest of swains! the world may see
Whom Cloe loves, and who loves me..

THE GARLAND.

THE pride of every grove I chose,
The violet sweet and lily fair,
The dappled pink, and blushing rose,
To deck my charming Cloe's hair.
At morn the nymph vouchsaf'd to place
Upon her brow the various wreath;
The flowers less blooming than her face,
The scent less fragrant than her breath.
The flowers she wore along the day:

And every nymph and shepherd said,
That in her hair they look'd more gay
Than glowing in their native bed.

She sigh'd; she smil'd: and, to the flowers Pointing, the lovely moralist said: "See, friend, in some few fleeting bours, See yonder, what a change is made! "Ah, me! the blooming pride of May, And that of Beauty, are but one: At morn both flourish bright and gay; Both fade at evening, pale, and gone. "At dawn poor Stella danc'd and sung; The amorous youth around her bow'd: At night her fatal knell was rung;

I saw, and kiss'd her in her shroud. "Such as she is, who died today;

Such I, alas! may be tomorrow: Go, Damon, bid thy Muse display The justice of thy Cloe's sorrow."

When in my glass I chanc'd to look;

Of Venus what did I implore? That every grace, which thence I took, 'Should know to charm my Damon more. Reading thy verse; "Who heeds," said I, "If here or there his glances flew ? O, free for ever be his eye,

Whose heart to me is always true!"
My bloom indeed, my little flower
Of Beauty quickly lost its pride:
For, sever'd from its native bower,
It on thy glowing bosom dy'd.
Yet car'd I not what might presage

Or withering wreath, or fleeting youth;
Love I esteem'd more strong than Age,
And Time less permanent than Truth.
Why then I weep, forbear to know:
Fall uncontroll'd, my tears, and free;
O Damon! tis the only woe,

I ever yet conceal'd from thee.
The secret wound with which I bleed

Shall lie wrapt up, ev'n in my hearse; But on my tomb-stone thou shalt read My answer to thy dubious verse.

THE LADY WHO OFFERS HER LOOKINGGLASS TO VENUS.

TAKEN FROM AN EPIGRAM OF PLATO.

VENUS, take my votive glass;

Since I am not what I was,

What from this day I shall be,
Venus, let me never see.

ANSWER TO CHLOE JEALOUS,

IN THE SAME STYLE; THE AUTHOR SICË, YES, fairest proof of Beauty's power, Dear idol of my panting heart, Nature points this my fatal hour:

And I have liv'd; and we must part.
While now I take my last adieu,

Heave thou no sigh, nor shed a tear;
Lest yet my half-clos'd eye may view
On earth an object worth its care.
From Jealousy's tormenting strife
For ever be thy bosom freed:
That nothing may disturb thy life,
Content I hasten to the dead.

Yet when some better-fated youth

Shall with his amorous parley move thee; Reflect one moment on his truth

Who, dying thus, persists to love thee.

CLOE JEALOUS.

FORBEAR to ask me, why I weep;
Vext Cloe to her shepherd said;
'Tis for my two poor straggling sheep,
Perhaps, or for my squirrel dead.
For mind I what you late have writ?
Your subtle questions and replies?
Emblems, to teach a female wit
The ways, where changing Cupid flies?
Your riddle purpos'd to rehearse

The general power that beauty has :
But why did not peculiar versc

Describe one charm of Cloe's face? The glass, which was at Venus' shrine, With such mysterious sortow laid:

The garland (and you call it mine)

Which show'd how youth and beauty fade:

Ten thousand trifles light as these

Nor can ny rage, nor anger, move: She should be humble, who would please; And she must suffer, who can love,

shows

The difference there is betwixt Nature and Art:
I court others in verse; but I love thee in prose:
And they have my whimsies, but thou hast my
heart.

The god of us verse-men, (you know, child) the Sun,
How after his journeys he sets up his rest:
If at morning o'er earth 'tis his fancy to run;
At night he declines on his Thetis's breast.
So when I am weary'd with wandering all day,
To thee my delight in the evening I come :
No matter what beauties I saw in my way;

They were but my visits, but thou art my home.

Then finish, dear Cloc, this pastoral war;

And let us like Horace and Lydia agree: For thou art a girl as much brighter than her, As he was a poet sublimer than me.

PALLAS AND VENUS.

AN EPIGRAM.

THE Trojan swain had judg'd the great dispute,
And Beauty's power obtain'd the golden fruit;
When Venus, loose in all her naked charms,
Met Jove's great daughter clad in shining arms.
The wanton goddess view'd the warlike maid
From head to foot, and tauntingly she said:

"Yield, sister; rival, yield: naked, you see, I vanquish guess how potent I should be, If to the field I came in armour drest; Dreadful, like thine, my shield, and terrible my crest!"

The warrior goddess, with disdain, reply'd:
"Thy folly, child, is equal to thy gods:
Let a brave enemy for once advise,
And Venus (if 'tis possible) be wise.
Thou, to be strong, must put off every dress:
Thy only armour is thy nakedness;

And more than once (or thou art much bely'd)
By Mars himself that armour has been try'd."

TO A YOUNG GENTLEMAN IN LOVE.

A TALE,

* FROM public noise and factious strife,
From all the busy ills of life,
Take me, my Celia, to thy breast;
And lull my wearied soul to rest.
For ever, in this humble cell,

Let thee and I, my fair one, dwell;
None enter else, but Love-and he
Shall bar the door, and keep the key.
"To painted roof and shining spires
(Uneasy seats of high desires)
Let the unthinking many crowd,
That dare be covetous and proud:
In golden bondage let them wait,
And barter happiness for state.
But oh my Celia, when thy swain
Desires to see a court again,

May Heaven around this destin'd head.
The choicest of its curses shed!

| To sum up all the rage of Fate

In the two things I dread and hate,
May'st thou be false, and I be great!"
Thus, on his Celia's panting breast,
Fond Celadon his soul exprest;
While with delight the lovely maid
Receiv'd the vows she thus repaid:

"Hope of my age, joy of my youth,
Blest miracle of love and truth;
All that could e'er be counted mine,
My love and life, long since are thine;
A real joy I never knew,

Till I believ'd thy passion true :
A real grief I ne'er can find,
Till thou prov'st perjur'd, or unkind.
Contempt, and poverty, and care,
All we abhor, and all we fear,
Blest with thy presence, I can bear.
Through waters and through flames I'll go,
Sufferer and solace of thy woe:
Trace me some yet unheard-of way,
That I thy ardour may repay;

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

"Had I a wish that did not bear
The stamp and image of my dear,
I'd pierce my heart through every vein,
And die, to let it out again.
No: Venus shall my witness be
(If Venus ever lov'd like me),
That for one hour I would not quit
My shepherd's arms, and this retreat,
To be the Persian 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 soon, alas! our pleasures pass.
He thank'd her on his bended knee;
Then drank a quart of milk and tea;
And leaving her ador'd embrace,
Hasten'd to court, to beg a place.
While she, his absence to bemoan,
The very moment he was gone,
Call'd Thyrsis from beneath the bed!
Where all this time he had been hid.

MORAL.

WHILE men have these ambitious fancies; And wanton wenches read romances; Our sex will-What? Out with it. Lye; And theirs in equal strains reply. The moral of the tale I sing (A posy for a wedding ring) In this short verse will be confin'd: Love is a jest, and vows are wind.

AN ENGLISH PADLOCK. MISS Danaë, when fair and young, (As Horace has divinely sung) Could not be kept from Jove's embrace By doors of steel, and walls of brass. The reason of the thing is clear, Would Jove the naked truth aver. Cupid was with him of the party,

And show'd himself sincere and hearty;