XXXII.

BRABANTIA, clad with Fields, and crown'd with Tow'rs, With decent Joy fhall her Deliv'rer meet;

Shall own Thy Arms, Great QUEEN, and blefs Thy Pow'rs,
Laying the Keys beneath Thy Subject's Feet.
FLANDRIA, by Plenty made the Home of War,

Shall weep her Crime, and bow to CHARLES reftor'd ;
With double Vows fhall blefs Thy happy Care,
In having drawn, and having fheath'd the Sword.
From these their Sifter Provinces fhall know,

How ANNE fupports a Friend, and how forgives a Foe.
XXXIII.

Bright Swords, and crefted Helms, and pointed Spears In artful Piles around the Work fhall lye;

And Shields indented deep in ancient Wars,
Blazon'd with Signs of GALLIC Heraldry;
And Standards with diftinguifh'd Honors bright,
Marks of high Pow'r and National Command,
Which VALOIS' Sons, and BOURBON's bore in Fight,
Or gave to Foix, or MONTMOR ANCY'S Hand:
Great Spoils, which GALLIA must to BRITAIN yield,
From CRESSY'S Battel fav'd, to grace RAMILLIA's Field.
XXXIV.

And as fine Art the Spaces may difpofe,

The knowing Thought and curious Eye fhall fee

Thy Emblem, Gracious QUEEN, the BRITISH Rose,
Type of fweet Rule, and gentle Majesty:

The NORTHERN Thiftle, whom no Hoftile Hand
Unhurt too rudely may provoke, Iween;
HIBERNIA's Harp, Device of Her Command,
And Parent of Her Mirth, fhall there be feen:

Thy

Thy vanquish'd Lilles, FRANCE, decay'd and torn,
Shall with diforder'd Pomp the lafting Work adorn.
XXXV.

Beneath, Great QUEEN, oh! very far beneath,
Near to the Ground, and on the humble Base,
To fave Her felf from Darkness, and from Death,
That MUSE defires the laft, the lowest Place;
Who tho' unmeet, yet touch'd the trembling String;
For the fair Fame of A NNE and ALBION's Land,
Who durft of War and Martial Fury Sing:

And when Thy Will, and when Thy Subject's Hand
Had quell'd thofe Wars, and bid that Fury cease;
Hangs up her grateful Harp to Conqueft, and to Peace.

CANTАТА.

Set by Monfieur GALLIARD.

RECIT.

BENEATH a verdant Lawrel's ample Shade,

His Lyre to mournful Numbers ftrung,

HORACE, immortal Bard, fupinely laid,
TO VENUS thus address'd the Song:
Ten thousand little Loves around
Lift'ning, dwelt on ev'ry Sound.

A R I E T.

Potent VENUS, bid Thy Son

Sound no more His dire Alarms. Youth on filent Wings is flown:

Graver Years come rolling on.

Spare

-Yet, VENUS, why do I each Morn prepare
The fragrant Wreath for CLOE's Hair?
Why, why do I all Day lament and figh,
Unless the beauteous Maid be nigh?

And why all Night purfue Her in my Dreams,
Thro' Flow'ry Meads, and Crystal Streams?

R E CIT.

Thus fung the Bard; and thus the Goddess spoke:
Submiffive bow to Love's imperious Yoke:
Ev'ry State, and ev'ry Age

Shall own My Rule, and fear My Rage:
Compell❜d by Me Thy Muse shall prove,
That all the World was born to love.

ARIE T.

Bid Thy deftin'd Lyre discover

Soft Defire, and gentle Pain:

Often praife, and always love Her:

Thro' her Ear her Heart obtain.

Verfe fhall pleafe, and Sighs fhall move Her:
CUPID does with PHOEBUS reign.

蘇蘇絲

Her

Her Right Name.

AS NANCY at Her Toylet fat,

Admiring This, and blaming That ;

Tell Me, She faid; but tell Me true;

The Nymph who cou'd your Heart fubdue,
What Sort of Charms does She poffefs?
Abfolve Me Fair One: I'll confefs;
With Pleasure I reply'd. Her Hair,
In Ringlets rather dark than fair,
Does down her Iv'ry Bofom roll,
And hiding Half, adorns the Whole.
In her high Forehead's fair half-round
Love fits in open Triumph crown'd:
He in the Dimple of her Chin,
In private State by Friends is feen.

Her Eyes are neither black, nor grey;

Nor fierce, nor feeble is their Ray:"

Their dubious Luftre feems to show
Something that speaks nor Yes, nor No.
Her Lips no living Bard, I weet,

May fay, how Red, how Round, how Sweet:

Old HOME R only could indite

Their vagrant Grace, and foft Delight:

They ftand Recorded in his Book,

When HELEN fmil'd, and HEBE spoke

The Gipfy turning to her Glafs,

Too plainly fhow'd, She knew the Face:

And

And which am I moft like, She faid,

Your CLOE, or Your Nut brown Maid?

N°

MAI D.

When I lose that, fays Rose, I'll dye: Behind the Elmes, laft Night, cry'd Dick, Rose, were You not extreamly Sick?

ANOTHER.

TEN Months after FLORIMEL happen'd to wed,

And was brought in a laudable Manner to Bed:

She warbl'd Her Groans with fo charming a Voice, That one half of the Parish was fun'd with the Noife,