IT oft' to many has fuccessful been,
Upon his arm to let his mistress lean;
Or wi h her airy fan to cool her heat,
Or gently fqueeze her knees, or prefs her feet,
All public sports, to favour young defire,
With opportunities like this confpire.
Ev'n where his skill the gladiator fhows,
With human blood where the Arena flows;
There oftentimes Love's quiver-bearing boy
Prepares his bow and arrows to destroy :
While the spectator gazes on the fight,
And fees them wound each other with delight;
While he his pretty mistress entertains,
And wagers with her who the conqueft gains;
Slily the God takes aim, and hits his heart,
And in the wounds he sees he bears his part.
AND SPARROW,
AN ELEGIAC TALE,
Occafioned by the Death of Prince GEORGE, 1708.
EHIND an unfrequented glade,
Where yew and myrtle mix their shade,
A widow Turtle penfive fat,
wept her murder'd Lover's fate.
The Sparrow chanc'd that way to walk
(A bird that loves to chirp and talk);
Be fure he did the Turtle greet;
She answer'd him as fhe thought meet.
Sparrows and Turtles, by the bye,
Can think as well as you or I:
But how they did their thoughts exprefs,
The margin fhews by T and S.
T. My hopes are loft, my joys are fled;
Alas! I weep Columbo dead :
Come, all ye winged lovers, come,
Drop pinks and daifies on his tomb:
Sing, Philomel, his funeral verfe;
Ye pious Redbreafts, deck his hearse:
Fair Swans, extend your dying throats,
Columbo's death requires your notes:
For him, my friends, for him I moan,
My dear Columbo, dead and gone."
Stretch'd on the bier Columbo lies;
Pale are his cheeks, and clos'd his eyes ;
Thofe cheeks, where Beauty fmiling lay;
Those eyes, where Love was us'd to play.
Ah! cruel Fate, alas! how foon
That beauty and those joys are flown!
Columbo is no more: ye Floods,
Bear the fad found to distant Woods;
The found let Echo's voice restore,
And fay, Columbo is no more,
"Ye Floods, ye Woods, ye Echoes, moan,
"My dear Columbo, dead and gone."
The Dryads all forfook the wood,
And mournful Naiads round me ftood,
The tripping Fawns and Fairies came,
All confcious of our mutual flame,
To figh for him, with me to moan
"My dear Columbo, dead and
Venus difdain'd not to appear,
To lend my grief a friendly ear;
But what avails her kindness now ?
She ne'er fhall hear my fecond vow:
The Loves, that round their Mother flew,
Did in her face her forrows view;
Their drooping wings they penfive hung,
Their arrows broke, their bows unftrung:
They heard attentive what I faid,
And wept, with me, Columbo dead:
"For him I figh, for him I moan,
"My dear Columbo, dead and gone,"
"Tis ours to weep," great Venus faid;
""Tis Jove's alone to be obey'd:
"Nor birds nor goddeffes can move
"The juft behefts of fatal Jove :
"I faw thy mate with fad regret,
"And curs'd the Fowler's cruel net:
"Ah, dear Columbo! how he fell,
"Whom Turturella lov'd fo well!
"I faw him bleeding on the ground,
"The fight tore-up my ancient wound;
"And, whilft you wept, alas! I cry'd,
"Columbo, and Adonis dy'd."
"Weep, all ye ftreams; ye mountains, groan; "I mourn Columbo, dead and gone;
"Still let my tender grief complain,
"Nor day nor night that grief restrain :"
I faid; and Venus ftill reply'd,
"Columbo and Adonis dy'd."
S. Poor Turturella, hard thy cafe,
And juft thy tears, alas, alas!
T. And haft thou lov'd; and canft thou hear
With piteous heart a lover's care?
Come then, with me thy forrows join,
And ease my woes by telling thine:
"For thou, poor bird, perhaps may'st moan
"Some Pafferella dead and gone."
S. Dame Turtle, this runs foft in rhyme,
But neither fuits the place nor time;
The Fowler's hand, whofe cruel care
For dear Columbo fet the fnare,
The fnare again for thee may fet ;
Two birds may perish in one net :
Thou should't avoid this cruel field,
And forrow should to prudence yield.
"Tis fad to die!
'Tis fadder yet, to live in woe.
S. When widows ufe this canting ftrain, They feem refolv'd to wed again.
T. When widowers would this truth disprove, They never tasted real love.
S. Love is foft joy and gentle ftrife,
His efforts all depend on life :
When he has thrown two golden darts,
And ftruck the lovers' mutual hearts;
Of his black fhafts let Death send one,
Alas! the pleafing game is done;
Ill is the poor furvivor fped,
A corpfe feels mighty cold in bed.
Venus faid right-" nor tears can move,
"Nor plaints revoke the will of Jove,"
All must obey the general doom,
Down from Alcides to Tom Thumb.
Grim Pluto will not be withstood
By force or craft. Tall Robinhood,
As well as Little John, is dead
(You fee how deeply I am read)
With Fate's lean tipstaf none can dodge,
He'll find you out where'er your lodge.
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