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* Unhappy child, who thus hast lost

But she tomorrow will retur : All the estate we e'er could boast;

Venus, be thou tomorrow great; Whither, O whither wilt thou run,

Thy myrtles strow, thy vlours burn, Thy name despis'd, thy weakness known?

And meet thy favourite nymph in state. Nor shall thy shrine on Earth be crown'd;

Kind goddess, to no other jowers Nor shall thy power in Heaven be own'd;

Let us tomorrow's blessings own: When thou nor man nor god canst wound."

Thy darling loves shall guide the hours ;
Oberlient Cupid kneeling cried,

And all the day be thine alone.
" Cease, Jearest 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 hor are you, or I, undone?

The loss of these I can supply
With keener shafts fruin Cloe's eye:

-Tantæne animis cælestibus iræ ? Ving: Fear not we c'er can be disgrac'd

In Virgil's sacred verse we find, While that bright magazine shall last :

That passion can depress or raise Your crowded altars still shall smoke;

The heavenly, as the human mind :
And man your friendly aid invoke:

Who dare deny what Virgil says ?
Jove shall again revere your power,
And rise a swan, or fall a shower.

But if they should, what our great master

Has thus laid down, my tale shall prove :
Fair Venus wept the sad disaster

Of having lost her favourite Dove.

In complaisance poor Cupid mourn'd;
As after noon, one summer's day,

His grief reliev'd his mother's pain; Venus stood bathing in a river;

He vow'd he'd leave no stone unturn'd, Cupid a-shooting went that way,

But she should have her Dove again. New strung his bow, new fillid his quiver,

“ Though none,” said he, “shall yet be nam'd, With skill be chose his sharpest dart,

I know the felon well enough: With all his might his bow he drew;

But be shè not, Mamma, condemn'd Swift to his beauteous parent's heart

Without a fair and legal proof.” The too-well-guided arrow flew.

With that, his longest dart he took, " I faint! I die!" the goddess cried :

As constable would take his statl': "O cruel, could'st thou find none other, That gods desire like men to look, To wreck thy spleen on? parricide!

Would make e'en Heraclitus laugh. Like Nero, thou hast slain thy mother."

Love's subalterns, a duteous band, Poor Capid sobbing scarce could speak;

Like watchmen, round their chief appear: “ Indeed, mamma, I did not know ye :

Each had his lantern in his hand; Alas! how (asy my mistake!

And Venus mask'd brought up the rear. I took you for your likeness Cloe."

Accoutred thus, their eager step

To Cloe's lodging they directed:

(At once I write, alas! and weep, VEVUS MISTAKEN.

That Cloe is of theft suspected). W e Cloe's picture was tn Venus shown,

Late they set out, had far to go : Sarpris'd, the goddess took it for her own. (mean?

St. Dunstan's as they pass'd struck one. " And what,” said she, “ does this bold painter

Cloe, for reasons goud, you know,

Lives at the sober end oth' town. When was I bathing thus, and naked seen ?"

With one great peal they rap the door, Pleas'd Cupid heard, and check'd his mother's

Like footmen on a visiting-day. pride;

Folks at her house at such an hour! “And who's blind now, mamma?” the urchin cried. “ Tis Cloe's eye, and cheek, and lip, and brcast:

Lord! what will all the neighbours say ? Briend Howard's genius fancied all the rest." The door is open : up they run:

Nor prayers, nor threats, divert their speed,
“ Thieves ! thieves !” cries Susan; "we're undoney

They'll kill my mistress in her bed."

In bed indeed the nymph had been
Ir wine and music have the power

Three hours : for, all historians say, To ease the sickness of the soul,

She commonly went up at ten,
Let Phicebus every string explore,

Unless piquet was in the way.
And Bacchus fill the sprightly bowl.
Let them their friendly aid employ,

She wak'd, be sure, with strange surprise
To make my Cloe's absence light;

O Cupid, is this right or law, And seek for pleasure, to destroy

| Thus to disturb the brightest erns The sorrows of this live-long nights

1 That ever slept, or ever suws

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Have you observ'd a sitting hare,

“ Search, then," she said, “ put in your hand, Listening, and fearful of the storm

And Cynthia, dear protectress, guard me: Of horns and hounds, clap back her ear,

As guilty I, or free, may stand, Afraid to keep, or leave her form?

Do thou or punish or reward me.” Or have you mark'd a partridge quake,

But ah? what maid to Love can trust! Viewing the towering falcon nigh?

He scorns, and breaks, all legal power : She cuddles low behind the brake :

Into her breast his hand he thrust; Nor would she stay; nor dares she fly,

And in a moment forc'd it lower. Then have you seen the beauteous maid;

“0, whither do those fingers rove," When gazing on her midnight focs,

Cries Cloe, “ treacherous urchin, whither?” She turn'd each way her frighted head,

“ O Venus! I shall find thy Dove," Then sunk it deep beneath the clothes,

Says he ; " for sure I touch his feather."
Venus this while was in the chamber

Incognito : for Susan said,
It smelt so strong of myrrh and amber
And Susan is no lving maid.

But, since we have no present need
Of Venus for an episode:

As Cloe came into the room t' other day,
With Cupid let us e'en proceed;

I peevish began: Where so long could you stay? And thus to Cloe spoke the god :

In your life-time you never regarded your hour;

You promis'd at two; and (pray look child,) 'tis “ Hold up your head: hold up your hand :

four, Would it were not my lot to show ye

A lady's watch needs neither figures nor wheels : This cruel writ, wherein you stan!

"Tis enough, that'tis loaded with baubles and seals, Indicted by the name of Cloe !

A temper so heedless no mortal can bear". “ For that, by secret malice stirr'd,

Thus far I went on with a resolute air. (speak !" Or by an emulous pride invited,

“Lord bless me!” said she; “ let a body but You have purloin'd the favourite bird,

Hre's an ugly hard rose-bud fallen into my neck: In which my mother most delighted.”

It has hurt ine, and vext me to such a degree Her blushing face the lovely maid

See here! for you never believe me; pray see, Rais'd just above the milk-white sheet;

On the left side my breast, what a mark it has A rose-tree in a lily bed

So saying, her bosom she careless display'd: Nor glows so red, nor breathes so sweet,

That seat of delight I with wonder survey'd Are ye not he whom virgins fear,

And forgot every word I design'd to have said, And widows court? is not your name Cupid? If so, pray come not near"-

" Fair maiden, l'm the very sąme." « Then what have I, good sir, to say,

Or do with her you call your mother?
If I should meet her in my way,

In sullen humour one day Jove
We hardly court'sy to each other,

Sent Hermes down to Ida's grove, 6 Diana chaste, and Hebe sweet,

Commanding Cupid to deliver Witness that what I speak is true :

His store of darts, his total quiver; I would not give my paroquet

That Hermes should the weapons break, For all the Doves that ever flew,

Or throw them into Lethe's lake.

Hermes, you know, must do his errand : “ Yet, to compose this midnight noise,

He found his man, produc'd his warrant : Go freely search where-e'er you please,

“ Cupid! your darts-this very hour (The rage, that rais'd, adorn'd her voice)

There's no contending against power!” Upon yon toilet lie my keys."

How sullen Jupiter, just now, Her keys he takes; her doors unlocks;

I think I said; and you'll allow
Through wardrobe and through closet bounces; That Cupid was as bad as he:
Peeps into every chest and box;

Hear but the youngster's repartee.
Turns all her furbeloes and flounces.

“ Come, kinsman,” said the little god, But dove, depend on't, finds he none;

“ Put off your wings, lay by your rod; So to the bed returns again :

Retire with me to yonder bower, And now the maiden, bolder grown,

And rest yourself for half an hour: Begins to treat him with disdain.

'Tis far indeed from hence to Heaven:

But you fly fast: and 'tis but seven. f 1 marvel much," she smiling said,

We'll take one cooling cup of nectar ; Your poultry cannot yet be found;

And drink to this celestial Hector, Lies he in yonder slipper dead?

“ He break my darts! or burt my power! Or, may be, in the tea-pot drown'd?"

He, Leda's swan and Danaë's shower! “ No, traitor,” angry Love replies,

Go, bid him his wise tongue restrain, “ He's hid somewhere about your breast; And mind his thunder, and his rain. A place nor god nor man denies,

My darts ! ( certainly I'll give 'em :
For Venus's Dove the proper nest."

From Cloe's eyes he shall receive 'ems


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ON BEAUTY.. THE QUESTION..LISETTA’S REPLY. There's one, the best in all my quiver,

Here listening Cloe smild, and said: Twang! through his very heart and liver;

" Your riddle is not hard to read: : He then shall pine, and sigh, and rave:

I guess it.”-“ Fair one, if you do, Good Lord! what bustle shall we have!

Need I, alas! the theme pursue? Neptune must straight be sent to sea,

For this, thou seest, for this I leave And Flora summon d twice a day:

Whate'er the world thinks wise or grave, One must find shells, and t'other flowers,

Ainbition, business, friendship, news, For cooling grots, and tragrant bowers,

My useful books, and serious Muse. That Cloe may be serv'd in state,

For this, I willingly decline The Hours must at her toilet wait:

The mirth of feasts, and joys of wine; Whilst all the reasoning fools below

And choose to sit and talk with thee Wonder their watches go too slow.

(As thy great orders may decree) Lybs must fly south, and Eurus east,

Of cocks and bulls, and Mutes and fiddles,
For jewels for ber hair and breast.

Of idle tales and foolish riddles."
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 bear!

What work among you scholar gods !

Wuat nymph should I admire or trust, · Phæbus must write him amorous odes.

But Cloe beauteous, Cloe just? And thou, poor cousin, must compose

What nymph should I desire to see, His letters in submissive prose;

But her who leaves the plain for me? Whilst haughty Cloe, to sustain

To whom should I compose the lay, The honour of my mystic reign,

But her who listens when I play? Shall all his gifts and vows disdain,

To whom in song repeat my carts, And laugh at your old bully's pain."

But her who in my sorrow shares?
“ Dear couz,” said Hermes, in a fright, For whom should I the garland make?
* For Heaven's sake! keep your darts! good night.”

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.

Resolve me, Cloe, what is this:

LISETTA'S REPLY. Or forfeit me one precious kiss. 'Tis the first offspring of the Graces;

| Sure Cloc just, and Cloe fair, Bears different forms in different places;

Deserves to be your only care: Acknowledg'd fine, where'er beheld;

But, when you and she today Yet fancied finer, when conceal'd.

Far into the wood did stray, 'Twas Flora's wealth, and Circe's charm;

And I happend to pass by ; Pandora's box of good and harm :

Which way did you cast your eye? 'Twas Mars's wish, Endymion's dream;

But, when your cares to her you sing, Apelles' draught, and Ovid's theme.

Yet dare not tell her whence they spring? This guided Theseus through the maze;

Does it not more aflict your heart, And sent him home with life and praise :

That in those cares she bears a part? But this tindid the Phrygian boy;

When you the flowers for Cloe twine, And blew the flames that ruin'd Troy.

Why do you to ber garland join This show'd great kindness to old Greece,

The meanest bud that falls from mine?
And help'd rich Jason to the fleece.

Simplest of swains! the world may see
This through the East just vengeance hurl'd, Whom Cloe loves, and who loves me. .
And lost poor Anthony the world.
Injur'd, though Lucrece found her doom,
This banish'd tyranny from Rome.
Appeas'd, though I ais gain'd her hire,

This set Persepolis on fire.

The pride of every grove I chose, For this Alcides learn'd to spin :

The violet sweet and lily fair, His club laid down, and lion's skin.

The dappled pink, and blushing rose,
For this Apollo deign'd to keep,

To deck my charming Cloe's hair.
With servile care, a mortal's sheep.
For this the father of the gods,

At morn the nymph vouchsaf'd to place
Content to leave his high abodes,

Upon her brow the various wreath; In borrow'd figures loosely ran,

The flowers less blooming than her face, Europa's bull, and Leda's swan:

The scent less fragrant than her breath. For this he re-assumes the nod,

The flowers she wore along the day: (While Semele commands the god)

And every nymph and shepherd said, Launches the bolt, and shakes the poles:

That in her hair they look'd more gay Thougha Momus laughs, and Juno scold,

Than glowing in their native bod.

Unirest at evening, when she found

| When in my glass I chanc'd to look ; Their odours lost, their colours past;

Of Venus what did I implore? She chang'd her look, and on the ground

That every grace, which thence I took, Her garland and her eye she cast.

Should know to charm my Damon more, That eye dropt sense distinct and clear,

Reading thy verse; “ Who heeds," said I, As any Muse's tongue could spcak,

“ If here or there his glances flew ? Wh:n from its lid a pearly tear

0, free for ever be his eye, Ran trickling down her beautcous cheek.

Whose heart to me is always true !" Dissembling wbat I knew too well,

My bloom indeed, my little flower .“ My love, my life," said I, "explain

Of Beauty quickly lost its pride: This change of humour: pr'ythee tell:

For, sever'd from its native bower, That falling tear--what does it inean?”

It on thy glowing bosom dy'd.

Yet car'd I not what might presage She sigh'd; she smil'd: and, to the flowers

Or withering wreath, or Hecting youth; Pointing, the lovely moralist said : :

Love I esteem'd more strong than Age, “ See, friend, in some few fleeting bours,

And Time less permanent than Truth. See yonder, what a change is made !

Why then I weep, forbear to know : " Ah, me! the blooming pride of May,

Fall uncontrollid, my tears, and free; And that of Beauty, are but one:

O Damon! tis the only woe, At morn both flourish bright and gay ;

I ever yet conceal'd from thee. Both fade at evening, pale, and gone.

The secret wound with which I bleed “ At dawn poor Stella danc'd and sung;

Shall lie wrapt up, ev'n in my hearse; The amorous youth around her bow'd :

But on my tomb-stone thou shalt read At night her fatal knell was rung;

My answer to thy dubious verse. I saw, and kiss'd her in her shroud. " Such as she is, who died today;

Snch I, alas ! may be tomorrow : Go, Damon, bid thy Muse display

ANSWER TO CHLOE JEALOUS, The justice of thy Cloe's sorrow."

IN THE SAME STYLE; THE AUTHOR SICK, Yes, fairest proof of Beauty's power,

Dear idol of my panting heart,

Nature points this my fatal hour:
THE LADY WHO OFFERS HER LOOKING. And I have liv'd; and we must parte

While now I take my last adieu,

Heave thou no sigh, nor shed a tear ;

Lest yet my half-clos'd eye may view Venus, take my votive glass;

On earth an object worth its care. Since I am not what I was,

From Jealousy's tormenting strife What from this day I shall be,

For ever be thy bosom freed : Venus, let me never sce.

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. FORBEAR to ask me, why I weep;

Vext Cloe to her shcpherd said;
'Tis for my two poor straggling sheep,
Perhaps, or for my squirrel dead.

For niind I what you late have writ?
Your subtle questions and replies ?

Dear Cloe, how blubber'd is that pretty face! Emblems, to teach a female wit

Thy check all on fire, and thy hair all uncurl'da The ways, where changing Cupid flies ?

Prythee quit this caprice; and (as old Falstaffsays) Your riddle purpos'd to rehearse

Let us ev'n talk a little like folks of this world. The general power that beauty has :

How canst thou presume, thou hast leave to destroy But why did not peculiar versc

The bcanties, which Venus but lent to thy keepDescribe one charm of Cloe's face?

ing? The glass, which was at Venus' shrine,

Thosc looks were design'd to inspire love and joy : With such mysterious soriuw laid:

More ordinary eyes may serve people for weepThe garland (and you call it mine)

Which show'd how youth and beauty fade: To be vext at a trife or two that I writ, Ten thousand trifles light as these

Your judgment at once, and my passion, you Nor caniny rage, nos anger, move :

wrong : She should be humble, who would please ; . You take that for fact, which will scarce be found wit: And she must sutier, who can love,

| Od's-life! inust one swear to the truth of a song!

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PALLAS AND VENUS.. A YOUNG GENTLEMAN IN LOVE. 153 What I speak, my fair Cloe, and what I write, 1 To sum up all the rage of Fate shows

In the two things I dread and hate,
The difference there is betwixt Nature and Art: May'st thou be false, and I be great!"
I court others in verse ; but I love thee in prose : Thus, on his Celia's panting breast,
And they have my whimsies, but thou hast my Fond Celadon his soul exprest;

While with delight the lovely maid

Receiv'd the vows she thus repaid : The god of us verse-men, (you know, child) the Sun,

“ Hope of my age, joy of my youth, How after his journeys he sets up his rest :

Blest miracle of love and truth; If at morning o'er oarth 'tis bis fancy to run;

All that could e'er be counted mine, At night he declines on his Thetis's breast.

My love and life, long since are thine; So when I am weary'd with wandering all day, A real joy I never knew,

To thee my delight in the evening I come : Till I believ'd thy passion true :
No matter what beauties I saw in my way;

A real grief I ne'er can find,
They were but my visits, but thou art my home. Till thou prov'st perjur'd, or unkind.

Contempt, and poverty, and care,
Then finish, dear Cloe, this pastoral war;

All we abhor, and all we fear,
And let us like Horace and Lydia agree :

Blest with thy presence, I can bear.
For thou art a girl as much brighter than her, | Through waters and through flames I'll go,
As he was a poet sublimer than me.

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,
The Trojan swain had judg'd the great dispute, I'd pierce my heart through every vein,
And Beauty's power obtain'd the golden fruit; And die, to let it out again.
When Venus, loose in all her naked charms, No: Venus shall my witness be
Met Jove's great daughter clad in shining arms. (If Venus ever lov'd like me),
The wanton goddess view'd the warlike maid That for one hour I would not quit
From head to foot, and taantingly she said: My shepherd's arms, and this retreat,

“ Yield, sister; rival, yield : naked, you see, To be the Persian monarch's bride, I vanquish : guess how potent I should be,

Partner of all his power and pride ; If to the field I came in armour drest;

Or rule in regal state above, Dreadful, like thine, my shield, and terrible my | Mother of gods, and wife of Jove." crest!”

O happy these of human race! The warrior goddess, with disdain, reply'd :. But soon, alas! our pleasures pass. " Thy folly, child, is equal to thy gods : banii He thank'd her on his bended knee; Let a brave enemy for once advise,

Then drank a quart of milk and tea; And Venus (if 'tis possible) be wise.

And leaving her ador'd embrace,
Thou, to be strong, must put off every dress : Hasten'd to court, to beg a place,
Thy only armour is thy nakedness;

While she, his absence to bemoan,
And more than once (or thou art much bely'd) The very moment he was gone,
By Mars himself that armour has been try'd." Callid Thyrsis froin beneath the bed!

Where all this time he had been hid.




While men bave 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.

* 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 ad 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 !

Miss Danaë, when fair and young,
(As Horace has divinely sung)
Could not be kept from Jove's embrace
Ry 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 licarty;

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