Cupid was knocking at my gate;
Who's there! says I, who knocks so late,
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 moonlight night,
All wet and cold, and wanting light.
With due regard his voice I heard,
Then rose, a ready lamp prepar'd,
And saw a naked boy below,
With wings, a quiver, and a bow;
In haste I ran, unlock'd 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 warm'd his little hands with 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 spoil'd it quite.
He drew it then, and straight I found
Within my breast a secret wound.
This done, the rogue no longer staid,
But leapt away, and laughing said,
"Kind host, adieu! we now must part;
Safe is my bow, but sick thy heart."
PRAISING THE LADY HINCHINBROKE.
Or thy judicious muse's sense,
Young Hinchinbroke so very proud is, That Sacharissa and Hortense
She looks, henceforth, upon as dowdies.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Lilies and roses there combine,
More beauteous than in flowery field; Transparent is her skin so fine,
To this each crystal stream must yield.
Her voice more sweet than warbling sound,
Though sung by nightingale or lark;
Her eyes such lustre dart around,
Compar'd to them, the sun is dark.
Both light and vital heat they give;
Cherish'd by them, my love takes root;
From her kind looks does life receive,
Grows a fair plant, bears flowers and fruit.
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.
Yet so delicious is its taste,
I cannot from the bait abstain, But to th' enchanting pleasure haste, Though I were sure 'twould end in pain.
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!
Oh! take your sword, and pierce my heart,
Undaunted see me meet the wound,
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