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Paint, patches, jewels, laid afide,
At night, aftronomers agree
The ev'ning has the day bely'd,
And Phillis is fome forty-three.

CHASTE FLORIMEL.

TO-I'll endure ten thousand deaths

N Ere any further I'll comply:

Oh! Sir, no man on earth that breathes
Had ever yet his hand fo high.

II

Oh! take your fword and pierce my heart,
Undaunted fee me meet the wound;
Oh! will you act a Tarquin's part?
A fecond Lucrece you have found.

III.

Thus to the preffing Corydon
Poor Florimel, unhappy maid,
Fearing by love to be undone,
In broken dying accents faid;
IV.

Delia who held the confcious door,
Infpir'd by truth and brandy, fimil'd,
Knowing that fixteen months before
Our Lucrece had her fecond child.

V.

And hark ye, Madam, cry'd the bawd,

None of your flights, your high-rope dodging;

Be civil here, or march abroad;

Oblige the 'fquire, or quit the lodging.

VI.

Oh! have I, Florimel went on,

Have I then loft my Delia's aid?
Where fhall forfaken virtue un
If by her friend she is betray'd?

VII.

Oh ! curfe on empty friendfhip's name ;
Lord what is all our future view?

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Then, dear deftroyer of my fame,

Let

my

laft fuccour be to you.

VIII.

From Delia's rage and Fortune's frown
A wretched lovefick maid deliver;
Oh! tip me but another crown,

Dear Sir, and make me your's for ever.

THE QUESTION. TO LISETTA.

WHAT nymph fhould I admire or truft

But Cloe, beauteous Cloe, juft?
What nymph fhould I defire to fee
But her who leaves the plain for me?
To whom should I compose the lay
But her who liftens when I play?
To whom in fong repeat my cares
But her who in my forrow fhares?
For whom should I the garland make
But her who joys the gift to take,
And boafts fhe wears it for my fake?
In love am I not fully blest ?
Lifetta, pr'ythee, tell the rest.

SURF

LISETTA'S REPLY.

URE Cloe juft, and Cloe fair,
Deferves to be your only care;
But when you and the to-day
Far into the wood did stray,
And I happen'd to pass by,
Which way did you caft

your eye

But when your cares to her you fing,
Yet dare not tell her whence they spring,
Does it not more afflict your heart

That in thofe cares the bears a part?
When

you theow'rs for Cloe twine,

Why do you to her gailand join
The meaneft oud that falls from mine?
Simpleft of fwains! the world may
Whom Cloe loves, and who loves me.

fee

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N heav'n, one holyday, you read,
In wife Anacreon, Ganymede
Drew heedlefs Cupid in to throw

A main, to pafs an hour, or fo:
The little Trojan, by the

way,

By Hermes taught, play'd all the play.
The god, unhappily engag'd,

By nature rafh, by play enrag'd,

Complain'd and figh'd, and cry'd, and fretted,
Loft ev'ry earthly thing he betted;

In ready money all the store

Pick'd up long fince from Danae's show'r ;
A fnuff-box fet with bleeding hearts,
Rubies, all pierc'd with diamond darts;
His ninepins made of myrtle wood;
(The tree in Ida's forest stood)

;

His bowl pure gold, the very fame
Which Paris gave the Cyprian dame
Two table books in fhagreen covers,
Fill'd with good verse from real lovers,
Merchandize rare! a billet-doux,
Its matter paffionate, yet true;
Heaps of hair rings and cipher'd seals,
Rich trifles, ferious bagatelles.

What fad diforders play begets!
Defp'rate and mad, at length he fets

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Those darts, whose points make gods adore

His might, and deprecate his pow'r;

Thofe darts whence all our joy and pain

Arife; thofe darts-Come feven's the main,

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Cries Ganymede: the ufual trick,

Seven flur a fix: eleven: a nick.

Ill news go faft: 'twas quickly known,
That fimple Cupid was undone.
Swifter than lightning Venus flew ;
Too late the found the thing too true.

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