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1 SoFT Cupid, wanton, amorous boy,
2 Oh! raise thy voice! one song I ask;
Touch then thy harmonious string; To Thyrsis easy is the task,
Who can so sweetly play and sing.
3 Two kisses from my mother dear, Thyrsis, thy due reward shall be; None, none, like beauty's queen is fair, Paris has vouched this truth for me.
4 I straight replied, Thou know'st alone
5 One kiss from Chloe's lips, no more
TO THE EARL OF OXFORD.
WRITTEN EXTEMPORE, IN LADY oxFord's STUDY., 1717.
PEN, ink, and wax, and paper send
TO THE HONOURABLE LADY MARGARET CAVENDISH
My noble, lovely, little Peggy,
WRITTEN UNDER THE PRINT OF TOM BRITTON THE SMALLCOAL-MAN, PAINTED BY MR WOOLASTON.
THOUGH doomed to small coal, yet to arts allied,
TRUTH TOLD AT LAST. SAYS Pontius in rage, contradicting his wife, ‘You never yet told me one truth in your life.’ Vexed Pontia no way could this thesis allow, ‘You’re a cuckold, says she; do I tell you truth now?'
IN LADY Howe's ovid's EPISTLEs. However high, however cold, the fair, However great the dying lover's care, Ovid, kind author, found him some relief, Ranged his unruly sighs, and set his grief; Taught him what accents had the power to move, And always gained him pity, sometimes love. But oh! what pangs torment the destined heart, That feels the wound, yet dares not show the dart! What ease could Ovid to his sorrows give,
Who must not speak, and therefore cannot live! 10
* A remarkable man, who, although he carried small coal about in a wheelbarrow, was an excellent musician.--Sir John Hawkins' History of Music, vol. v. p. 70.
AN EPISTLE, MDCCXVI.
I PRAY, good Lady Harley, let Jonathan know,
I PRAY Lady Harriot the time to assign
IF wit or honesty could save
Or snarled against the hand that fed him.— 20
To Richmond and Peterburgh, Mat gave his letters,
And thought they were safe in the hands of his betters.
How happened it then that the packets were lost?
These were knights of the garter, not knights of the post.
2 He hated was by rich and poor,
So ill he exercised his power,
3 Full proud and arrogant was he,
4 He, with a haughty impious nod,
Gold he did idolize.
* Lord Coningsby, one of the lords justices of Ireland.