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Disturbs my dreams, and breaks my rest!
O fear not me, a harmless guest,
He said, but open, open, pray;
A foolish child, I’ve lost my way,
And wander here this moonless night,
All wet and cold, and wanting light.
With due regard his voice I heard,
Then rose, a ready lamp prepared,
And saw a naked boy below,
With wings, a quiver, and a bow;
In haste Iran, unlocked my gate,
Secure and thoughtless of my fate;
I set the child an easy chair
Against the fire, and dried his hair;
Brought friendly cups of cheerful wine,
And warmed his little hands in mine.
All this I did with kind intent;
But he, on wanton mischief bent,
Said, Dearest friend, this bow you see,
This pretty bow belongs to me:
Observe, I pray, if all be right;
I fear the rain has spoiled it quite.
He drew it then, and straight I found
Within my breast a secret wound.
This done, the rogue no longer staid,
But leaped away, and laughing said,
“Kind host, adieu! we now must part;
Safe is my bow, but sick thy heart.’
TO A POET OF QUALITY.
PRAISING THE LADY HINCHINBROKE.
1 OF thy judicious muse's sense,
Young Hinchinbroke so very proud is,
That Sacharissa and Hortense
She looks, henceforth, upon as dowdies.
2 Yet she to one must still submit,
To dear mamma must pay her duty,
She wonders, praising Wilmot's wit,
Thou shouldst forget his daughter's beauty.
LYsANDER talks extremely well;
On any subject let him dwell,
His tropes and figures will content ye:
He should possess to all degrees
The art of talk; he practises
Full fourteen hours in four-and-twenty.
So good a wife doth Lissy make,
That from all company she flieth;
Such virtuous courses doth she take,
That she all evil tongues defieth;
And, for her dearest spouse's sake,
She with his brethren only lieth.
PHILLIS, you boast of perfect health in vain,
And laugh at those who of their ills complain;
That with a frequent fever Chloe burns,
And Stella's plumpness into dropsy turns!
O Phillis, while the patients are nineteen,
Little, alas! are their distempers seen.
But thou, for all thy seeming health, art ill,
Beyond thy lover's hopes, or Blackmore's skill;
No lenitives can thy disease assuage,
I tell thee, ’tis incurable—'tis age. 10
WHILST I in prison or in court look down,
Nor beg thy favour, nor deserve thy frown,
In vain, malicious fortune, hast thou tried,
By taking from my state, to quell my pride:
Insulting girl! thy present rage abate;
And, wouldst thou have me humbled, make me great.
1 Let others from the town retire,
And in the fields seek new delight;
My Phillis does such joys inspire,
No other objects please my sight.
2 In her alone I find whate'er
Beauties a country landscape grace:
No shade so lovely as her hair,
Nor plain so sweet as in her face.
3 Lilies and roses there combine,
More beauteous than in flowery field;
Transparent is her skin so fine,
To this each crystal stream must yield.
4 Her voice more sweet than warbling sound,
Though sung by nightingale or lark;
Her eyes such lustre dart around,
Compared to them, the sun is dark.
5 Both light and vital heat they give:
Cherished by them, my love takes root;
From her kind looks does life receive,
Grows a fair plant, bears flowers and fruit.
6 Such fruit, I ween, did once deceive
The common parent of mankind;
And made transgress our mother Eve:
Poison its core, though fair its rind.
7 Yet so delicious is its taste,
I cannot from the bait abstain,
But to the enchanting pleasure haste,
Though I were sure 'twould end in pain.
1 No-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!
2 Oh! take your sword, and pierce my heart,
Undaunted see me meet the wound,
Oh! will you act a Tarquin's part?
A second Lucrece you have found.
3 Thus to the pressing Corydon,
Poor Florimel, unhappy maid!
Fearing by love to be undone,
In broken dying accents said.
4 Delia, who held the conscious door,
Inspired by truth and brandy, smiled,
Knowing that, sixteen months before,
Our Lucrece had her second child.
5 And, hark ye! madam, cried the bawd,
None of your flights, your high rope dodging;
Be civil here, or march abroad;
Oblige the squire, or quit the lodging.
6 Oh! have I—Florimel went on—
Have I then lost my Delia's aid?
Where shall forsaken virtue run,
If by her friend she is betrayed?
7 Oh! curse on empty friendship's name!
Lord, what is all our future view!
Then, dear destroyer of my fame,
Let my last succour be to you!
8 From Delia's rage, and fortune's frown,
A wretched love-sick maid deliver!
Oh! tip me but another crown,
Dear sir, and make me yours for ever.
WHEN Willis' of Ephraim heard Rochester” preach, Thus Bentley said to him, I pr’ythee, dear brother, * Bp. of Gloucester.—” Bp. Atterbury.