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And standards with distinguish'd honours bright,
Marks of high power and national commande,
Which Valois' sons, and Bourbon's bore in fight,
Or gave to Foix', or Montmorancy's hand :
Great spoils, which Gallia must to Britain yield,
From Creffy's battle fav’d, to grace Ramilia's field.

XXXIV.
And, as fine art the spaces may difpofe,
The knowing thought and curious eye shall fec
Thy emblem, gracious Queen, the British rose,
Type of sweet rule and gentle majesty :
The northern thistle, whom no hostile hand
Unhurt too rudely may provoke, I ween ;
Hibernia's harp, device of her command,
And parent of her mirth, fhall there be feen:
Thy vanquish'd lilies, France, decay'd and torn,
Shall with disorder'd pomp the lasting work adorn.

XXXV.
Beneath, great Queen, oh! very far beneath,
Near to the ground, and on the hunble base,
To save herself from darkness and from death,
That Muse desires the last, the lowest place ;
Who, though unmeet, yet touch'd the trembling string,
For the fair fame of Anne and Albion's land,
Who durst of war and martial fury sing;
And when thy will, and when thy subject's hand,
Had quell'd those wars, and bid that füry cease;
Hangs up her grateful harp to conquest, and to peace.

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HER RIGHT NAME AS

S Nancy at her toilet sat,

Admiring this, and blaming that ;.
Tell me, she said; but tell me true ;
The Nymph who could your heart subdue..
What sort of charms does she possess ? .
Absolve me, fair-one : I'll confess ;-
With pleasure I reply'd.. Her hair,
In ringlets rather dark than fair,
Does down her ivory bofom roll,
And, hiding half, adorns the whole.
In her high forehead's fair half round.
Love fits in open triumph crown'd:
He in the dimple of her chin,
In private state, by friends is seen.
Her eyes are neither black nor gray ;
Nor fierce nor feeble is their ray;
Their dubious lustre seems to show
Something that speaks nor Yes, nor No.
Her lips no living bard I weet,
May say, how red, how round, how sweet z.
Old Homer only could indite
Their vagrant grace and soft delight :
They stand recorded in his book,
When Helen smild, and Hebe spoke-
The gipsey, turning to her glass,
Too plainly shew'd, she knew the face
And which am I most like, she faid,
Your Cloe, or your Nut-brown Maid?

CANTATA,

'CA

Ν

Τ Α Τ

A.

BENEAT

Set by Monsicur GALLIARDO

Recit.
ENEATH a verdant laurel's ample shade,

His lyre to mournful numbers strung,
Horace, immortal bard, supinely laid,
To Venus thus address'd the song:

Ten thousand little Loves around,
Listening, dwelt on every found.

Ariet.
Potent Venus, bid thy son

Sound no more his dire alarms.
Youth on filent wings is flown :

Graver years come rolling on..
Spare my age, unfit for arms :

Safe and humble let me rest,

From all amorous care releas'd.
Potent Venus, bid thy son

Sound no more his dire alarms.

Recit.
Yet, Venus, why do I each morn prepare
The fragrant wreath for Cloe's hair?
Why do I all day lament and figh,
Unless the beautcous maid be nigh?
And why all night pursue her in my dreams,
Through flowery meads and crystal streams?

S4

Recit.

Recit.
Thus sung the Bard; and thus the Goddess {poke ::
Submissive bow to Love's imperious yoke:

Every state, and every age,
Shall own my rule, and fear my rage :
Compell’d by me, thy Mufe shall prove,,
That all the world was born to love,

Ariet..
Bid thy destin'd lyre discover

Soft defire and gentle pain :
Often praise, and always love her:

Through her ear, her heart obtain..
Verse shall please, and fighs shall move here.

Cupid does with Phoebus reign.

Lines written in an OVID:
A Translation from the FRENCH.

OVID is the fureft guides

You can name, to threw the way
To any woman, maid or bride,

Who refolves to go astray.

A TRUE

M A ID

N.;

O, no; for my virginity,

When I lose that, says Rofe, I 'll die: Behind the elins, last night, cry'd Dick, Rose, were you not extremely fick ?

ANOTHER.

Α Ν Ο Τ Η Ε R.

TEN months after Florimel happen’d to wed,

And was brought in a laudable manner to bed : She warbled her groans with fo charming a voice, That one half of the parish was stunn'd with the noise. But, when Florimel deign’d to lie privately in, Ten months before she and her spouse were a-kin; She chose with such prudence her pangs to conceal, That her nurse, nay her midwife, scarce heard her once

fqueal. Learn, hulbands, from hence, for the peace of your

lives, That maids make not half such a tumult as wives.

A REASONABLE AFFLICTION.
ON his death-bed poor Lubin lies ;

His spouse is in despair :
With frequent sobs, and mutual cries,,

They both express their care..
A different cause, says parson Sly,

The same effect may give :
Poor Lubin fears, that he shall die ;;

His wife, that he may live..

Another

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