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When in the glass, and river too,

My face I lately view'd,

Such was I, if the glafs be true,
If true the crystal flood.

In colours of this glorious kind*
Apelles painted me;

My hair thus flowing with the wind,
Sprung from my native Sea.

Like this †, diforder'd, wild, forlorn,
Big with ten thousand fears,
Thee, my Adonis, did I mourn,
Ev'n beautiful in tears.

But, viewing Myra plac'd apart,
I fear, fays fhe, I fear,
Apelles, that Sir Godfrey's art
Has far furpafs'd thine here.

Or I, a Goddess of the fkies,
By Myra am undone,

And muft refign to her the prize,.

The apple, which I won.

But, foon as she had Myra seen,

Majeftically fair,

The fparkling eye, the look ferene,

The gay and easy air;

With fiery emulation fill'd,

The wondering Goddess cry'd,
Apelles must to Kneller yield,

Or Venus muft to Hyde.

*Lady Salisbury.

Lady Jane, fifter to the duke

of Douglas; afterwards, married to Sir John Stewart.

3

DAPHNE

DAPHNE AND

APOLLO:

Imitated, from the firft Book of OVID'S

METAMORPHOSES.

"Nympha, precor, Penei, mane."

APOLLO.

ABATE, fair fugitive, abate thy fpeed,

Difmifs thy fears, and turn thy beauteous head;

With kind regard a panting lover view;
Lefs fwiftly fly, lefs fwiftly I'll pursue:
Pathlefs, alas and rugged is the ground,

Some stone may hurt thee, or fome thorn may wound.
DAPHNE (afide).

This care is for himself, as fure as death

One mile has put the fellow out of breath;
He'll never do, I'll lead him t' other round;
Wafhy he is, perhaps not over-found.

APOLLO.

You fly, alas! not knowing whom you fly;
Nor ill-bred fwain, nor rufty clown, am I:
I Claros ifle and Tenedos command

DAPHNE.

Thank you: I would not leave my native land.

APOLLO.

What is to come, by certain arts I know.

DAPHNE.

Fish! Partridge has as fair pretence as you.

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APOLLO.

Behold the beauties of my locks

DAPHNE.

A fig !

That may be counterfeit, a Spanish wig.
Who cares for all that bush of curling hair,
Whilft your smooth chin is so extremely bare?

I fing

APOLLO.

DAPHNE.

That never fhall be Daphne's choice:

Syphacio had an admirable voice.

APOLLO.

Of every herb I tell the myftic power; To certain health the patient I restore ; Sent for, carefs'd

DAPHNE.

Ours is a wholesome air;

You'd better go to town, and practise there :
For me, I've no obftructions to remove :
I'm pretty well; I thank your father Jove:
And Phyfick is a weak ally to Love.

APOLLO.

For learning fam'd, fine verfes I compofe.
DAPHNE.

So do your brother quacks and brother beaux.
Memorials only, and Reviews, write profe.

APOLLO.

From the bent yew I fend the pointed reed,

Sure of its aim, and fatal in its fpeed.

DAPHNE.

DAPHNE.

Then, leaving me, whom sure you would not kill!

In yonder thicket exercise your skill:

Shoot there at beafts; but for the human heart,
Your coufin Cupid has the only dart.

APOLLO.

Yet turn, O beauteous maid! yet deign to hear,
A love-fick Deity's impetuous prayer ;

O let me woo thee as thou would'st be woo'd!
DAPHNE.

First, therefore, be not fo extremely rude.
Tear not the hedges down, nor tread the clover,
Like an hobgoblin, rather than a Lover.
Next, to my father's grotto fometimes come;
At ebbing-tide he always is at home.

Read the Courant with him, and let him know
A little politicks, how matters go

Upon his brother-rivers, Rhine or Po.
As any maid or footman comes or goes,
Pull off your hat, and ask how Daphne does :
These fort of folks will to each other tell,

That you refpe&t me; that, you know, looks well.
Then, if you are, as you pretend, the God
That rules the day, and much upon the road,
You'll find a hundred trifles in your way,
That you may bring one home from Africa;
Some little rarity, fome bird, or beast;
And now and then a jewel from the Eaft;
A lacquer'd cabinet, fome china-ware,
You have them mighty cheap at Pekin fair!

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Next, nota bene, you fhall never rove,

Nor take example by your

father Jove.

Laft, for the cafe and comfort of my life,

Make me your (Lord! what startles you?) your wife.
I'm now (they fay) fixteen, or fomething more;
We mortals feldom live above fourscore:

Fourfcore; you 're good at numbers, let us fee,
Seventeen fuppofe, remaining fixty-three;
Aye, in that span of time, you'll bury me.
Mean time, if you have tumult, noise, and strife,
(Things not abhorrent to a marry'd life !)
They'll quickly end, you fee; what fignify
A few odd years to you that never die ?
And, after all, you 're half your time

away,

dear

You know your
bufinefs takes you up
all day;
And, coming late to bed, you need not fear,
Whatever noife I make, you 'll fleep, my
Or, if a winter-evening fhould be long,
Ev'n read your phyfic-book, or make a fong.
Your fteeds, your wife, diachalon, and rhyme,
May take up any honeft Godhead's time.
Thus, as you like it, you may love again,

And let another Daphne have her reign.

Now love, or leave, my dear; retreat, or follow: I Daphne (this premis'd) take thee Apollo. And may I fplit into ten thousand trees,

If I give up on other terms than these !

She said; but what the amorous God reply'd

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(So Fate ordain'd) is to our fearch deny'd;

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