Her loss with tears all Europe griev'd;
Their strength, and dear delight.

"Leave we in bliss this heavenly saint,
Revere, ye just, her urn;

Her virtues high and excellent,
Astrea gone we mourn.

"Commemorate, my sons, the day
Which gave great Anna birth:

Keep it for ever and for aye,
And annual be your mirth!"

Illustrious George now fills the throne,
Our wise benign good king:

Who can his wondrous deeds make known,
Or his bright actions sing?

Thee, favourite Nero, he has deign'd

To raise to high degree!

Well thou thy honours hast sustain'd,
Well vouch'd thy ancestry.

But pass-These honours on thee laid,
Can they e'er make thee white?

Don't Gaphny's blood, which thou hast shed,

Thy guilty soul affright?

Oh! is there not, grim mortal, tell,

Places of bliss and woe?

Oh! is there not a heaven, a hell?

But whither wilt thou go?

Can nought change thy obdurate mind?

Wilt thou for ever rail?

The prophet on thee well refin❜d,
And set thy wit to sale.

How thou art lost to sense and shame,
Three countries witness be:
Thy conduct all just men do blame,
Libera nos, Domine!

Dame Justice waits thee, well I ween,
Her sword is brandish'd high:

Nought can thee from her vengeance screen,
Nor canst thou from her fly.

Heavy her ire will fall on thee,
The glittering steel is sure:
Sooner or later, all agree,

She cuts off the impure.

To her I leave thee, gloomy peer!
Think on thy crimes committed:
Repent, and be for once sincere,

Thou ne'er wilt be De-Witted.

APOLOGY TO A LADY,1

WHO TOLD ME I COULD NOT LOVE HER HEART

ILY, BECAUSE I HAD LOVED OTHERS.

IN IMITATION OF MR. WALLER.

FAIR Sylvia, cease to blame my youth
For having lov'd before;

So men, ere they have learnt the truth,
Strange deities adore.

My youth ('tis true) has often rang'd,
Like bees o'er gaudy flowers;
And many thousand loves has chang'd,
Till it was fix'd in yours.

For, Sylvia, when I saw those eyes,
'Twas soon determin'd there;
Stars might as well forsake the skies,
And vanish into air!

If I from this great rule do err,
New beauties to explore;

May I again turn wanderer,

And never settle more!

1 By the manner in which this and the two following little pieces are printed in the Oxford and Cambridge Miscellany Poems, there is little doubt but they are the productions of the excellent poet to whom I have ascribed them.

AGAINST MODESTY IN LOVE.

FOR many unsuccessful years

At Cynthia's feet I lay;

And often bath'd them with my tears, Despair'd, but durst not pray.

No prostrate wretch, before the shrine Of any saint above,

E'er thought his goddess more divine, Or paid more awful love.

Still the disdainful dame look'd down
With an insulting pride;
Receiv'd my passion with a frown,
Or toss'd her head aside.

When Cupid whisper'd in my ear,
"Use more prevailing charms,
Fond, whining, modest fool, draw near,
And clasp her in your arms.

"With

eager kisses tempt the maid,
From Cynthia's feet depart;
The lips he warmly must invade
Who would possess the heart."

With that I shook off all my fears,
My better fortune tried;
And Cynthia gave what she for

years

Had foolishly denied.

ON A YOUNG LADY'S GOING TO TOWN IN THE SPRING.

ONE night unhappy Celadon,

Beneath a friendly myrtle's shade, With folded arms and eyes cast down, Gently repos'd his love-sick head: Whilst Thyrsis, sporting on the neighbouring plain, Thus heard the discontented youth complain:

"Ask not the cause why sickly flowers Faintly recline their drooping heads; As fearful of approaching showers,

They strive to hide them in their beds, Grieving with Celadon they downward grow, And feel with him a sympathy of woe.

"Chloris will go; the cruel fair, Regardless of her dying swain, Leaves him to languish, to despair,

And murmur out in sighs his pain.

The fugitive to fair Augusta flies,

To make new slaves, and gain new victories."

So restless monarchs, though possess'd

Of all that we call state or power,
Fancy themselves but meanly bless'd,
Vainly ambitious still of more.

Round the wide world impatiently they roam,
Not satisfied with private sway at home.