DEAR Howard, from the foft affaults of love,
Poets and Painters never are fecure;
Can I untouch'd the fair-one's passions move;
Or thou draw beauty, and not feel its power?
To great Apelles when young Ammon brought
The darling idol of his captive heart;
And the pleas'd nymph with kind attention fat,
To have her charms recorded by his art:
The amorous mafter own'd her potent eyes;
Sigh'd when he look'd, and trembled as he drew;
Each flowing line confirm'd his first furprize,
And, as the piece advanc'd, the passion grew.
While Philip's fon, while Venus' fon, was near,
What different tortures does his bofom feel!
Great was the Rival, and the God fevere:
Nor could he hide his flame, nor durft reveal.
The prince, renown'd in bounty as in arms,
With pity faw the ill-conceal'd distress ;
Quitted his title to Campafpe's charms,
And gave the fair-one to the friend's embrace.
Thus the more beauteous Cloe fat to thee,
Good Howard, emulous of the Grecian art :
But happy thou, from Cupid's arrow free,
And flames that pierc'd thy predeceffor's heart!
VII.
Had thy poor breast receiv'd an equal pain;
Had I been vefted with the monarch's power;
Thou must have figh'd, unlucky youth, in vain;
Nor from my bounty hadst thou found a cure.
Though, to convince thee that the friend did feel
A kind concern for thy ill-fated care,
I would have footh'd the flame I could not heal;
Given thee the world; though I with-held the fair.
DISARME D.
BENEATH a myrtle's verdant fhade
As Cloe half afleep was laid,
Cupid perch'd lightly on her breaft,
And in that heaven defir'd to réft:
Over her paps his wings he fpread;
Between he found a downy bed,
And neftled-in his little head.
Still lay the God: the nymph, furpriz'd,
Yet miftrefs of herself, devis'd,
How the the vagrant might inthrall,
And captive him, who captives all.
The filken bond, and held him faft.
The god awak'd; and thrice in vain
He ftrove to break the cruel chain;
And thrice in vain he shook his wing,
Incumber'd in the filken ftring,
Fluttering the God, and weeping, faid,
Pity poor Cupid, generous maid,
Who happen'd, being blind, to ftray,
And on thy bofom loft his way;
Who ftray'd, alas! but knew too well,
He never there must hope to dwell:
Set an unhappy prifoner free,
Who ne'er intended harm to thee.
To me pertains not, the replies,
To know or care where Cupid flies;
What are his haunts, or which his way;
Where he would dwell, or whither ftray:
Yet will I never fet thee free;
For harm was meant, and harm to me.
Vain fears that vex thy virgin heart!
I'll give thee up my bow and dart;
Untangle but this cruel chain,
And freely let me fly again.
Agreed: fecure my virgin heart:
Inftant give up thy bow and dart :
The chain I'll in return untie;
And freely thou again fhalt fly.
Thus the the captive did deliver;
The captive thus gave up his quiver.
The God difarm'd, e'er fince that day,
Paffes his life in harmless play;
Flies round, or fits upon her breast,
A little, fluttering, idle gueft.
E'er fince that day, the beauteous maid
Governs the world in Cupid's ftead;
Directs his arrow as fhe wills: ;
Gives grief, or pleasure; fpares, or kills.
EHIND her neck her comely treffes tied,
Her ivory quiver graceful by her fide,
A-hunting Cloe went : fhe loft her way,
And through the woods uncertain chanc'd to stray.
Apollo, paffing by, beheld the maid;
And, fifter dear, bright Cynthia, turn, he said:
The hunted hind lies clofe in yonder brake.
Loud Cupid laugh'd, to fee the God's mistake;
And, laughing, cried, Learn better, great divine, !
To know thy kindred, and to honour mine.
Rightly advis'd, far hence thy fifter seek,
Or on Meander's bank, or Latmus' peak.
But in this nymph, my friend, my fifter know:
She draws my arrows, and the bends my bow:
Fair Thames the haunts, and every neighbouring grove,
Sacred to foft recefs, and gentle love...
Go, with thy Cynthia, hurl the pointed fpear
At the rough boar, or chafe the flying deer:
I and my Cloe take a nobler aim :
At human hearts we fling, nor ever miss the game.
N Heaven, one holy-day, you read
In wife Anacreon, Ganymede
Drew heedlefs Cupid in, to throw
A main, to pass an hour, or fo.
The little Trojan, by the way,
By Hermes taught, play'd all the play.
The god unhappily engag'd,
By nature, rafh, by play enrag'd,
Complain'd, and figh'd, and cried, and fretted;
Loft every earthly thing he betted:
In ready money, all the store
Pick'd-up long fince from Danaë's fhower;
A fnuff-box, fet with bleeding hearts,
Rubies, all pierc'd with diamond darts;
His nine-pins made of myrtle wood
(The tree in Ida's forest stood);
His bowl pure gold, the very fame
Which Paris gave the Cyprian dame;
Two table-books in fhagreen covers,
Fill'd with good verse from real lovers;
Merchandife rare! a billet-doux,
Its matter paffionate, yet true;
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