I ftrait reply'd, Thou know'ft alone

That brightest Chloe rules my breast, I'll fing the Two instead of One,

If thou 'lt be kind, and make me blest. One kiss from Chloe's lips, no more,

I crave : He promis'd me success ;
I play'd with all my skill and power,

My glowing passion to express.
But, oh! my Chloe, beauteous maid !

Wilt thou the wish'd reward bestow ?
Wilt thou make good what Love has said,

And, by thy grant, his power show?

TO THE

E A R L OF OXFORD

WRITTEN EXTEMPORE,

IN LADY OXFOR D's STUDY, 1717,

Pen, ink, and wax, and paper send
To the kind wife, the lovely friend :
Smiling, bid her freely write
What her happy thoughts indite;
Of virtue, goodness, peace, and love,
Thoughts which angels may approve.

A LETTER

My noble, lovely, little Peggy,
Let this my first epiftle beg you,
At dawn of morn and close of

even,
To lift your heart and hands to Heaven.
In double beauty say your prayer :
Our Father first, then Notre Pere :
And, dearest child, along the day,
In every thing you do and say,
Obey and please my lord and lady,
So God shall love, and Angels aid ye.

If to these precepts you attend,
No second letter nced I send,
And so I rest your constant friend.

}

PAINTED

BY

MK.

WOOL A S T O N.
THOUGH doom’d to small-coal, yet to arts

ally’d,
Rich without wealth, and famous without pride ;
Mufick's best patron, judge of books and men,
Belov'd and honour'd by Apollo's train:
In Greece or Rome sure never did appear
So bright a genius, in so dark a sphere :
More of the man had artfully + been sav'd,
Had Kneller painted, and had Vertue grav'd.

These verses were written by Mr. Prior to serve VerTUE, then a young man, and patroniz’d by Edward Earl of Oxford. Concerning the extraordinary man who is the subject of them, a very extertaining account is given by Sir John Hawkins, in his History of Musick, vol. v. p. 70.

+ Sir John Hawkins observes, it is suspected that the insignificant adverb ARTFULLY, was inserted by a mistake of the transcriber, and that it originally stood PROBABLY.

TRUTH

TRUTH TOLD

AT

L AST.

Says

AYS Pontius in rage, contradicting his wife, “ You never yet told me one truth in your

life.” Vext Pontia no way could this thesis allow, " You're a Cuckold, says she ; do I tell you truth

now ?"

Howeve

OWEVER high, however cold, the fair, However great the dying lover's care, Ovid, kind author, found him some relief, Rang'd his unruly fighs, and set his grief; Taught him what accents had the power to move; And always gain'd him pity, sometimes love. But, oh! what pangs torment the destin'd heart, That feels the wound, yet dares not shew the dart ! What care could Ovid to his forrows give, Who must not speak, and therefore cannot live! Vol. II,

Q

А

N

Pray, good Lady Harley, let Jonathan know, How long you intend to live incognito. Your humble servant,

ELKANAH SETTLE.

ANOTHER EPISTLE.

I pray, Lady Harriot, the time to align

When she fall receive a turkey and chine;
That a body may come to St. James's, to dine.

}

TRUE'S EPIT A P H.

IF

F wit or honesty could save
Our mouldering aihes from the grave,
This stone had still rem ain'd unmark'd,
I ftill writ prose, True still have bark'd.

But