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HER RIGHT NAME.

AS

S Nancy at her toilet fat,

Admiring this, and blaming that,
Tell me,, she said; but tell me true;

The Nymph who could your heart fubdue.
What fort of charms does fhe poffefs?
Abfolve me, fair-one ; I'll confefs
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 luftre feems to show
Something that speaks nor Yes, nor No.
Her lips no living bard, I weet,

May fay, how red, how round, how sweet;

Old Homer only could indite

Their vagrant grace and foft delight:
They ftand recorded in his book,
When Helen fmil'd, and Hebe spoke-
The gipfey, turning to her glass,
Too plainly fhew'd fhe knew the face;
And which am I moft like, fhe faid,
Your Cloc, or your Nut-brown Maid?

G 3

CANTATA.

CANT AT A.

SET BY MONSIEUR GALLIARD.

RECIT.

BENEATH a verdant laurel's ample shade,
His lyre to mournful numbers ftrung,

Horace, immortal bard, fupinely laid,
To Venus thus addrefs'd the fong:
Ten thousand little Loves around,
Listening, dwelt on every found.

ARIET.

Potent Venus, bid thy fon

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 fon

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 beauteous maid be nigh?

And why all night pursue her in my dreams,
Through flowery meads and crystal streams?

RECIT.

Thus fung the Bard; and thus the Goddess spoke : Submiffive 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 fhall prove,
That all the world was born to love.

ARIET.

Bid thy deftin'd lyre difcover
Soft defire and gentle pain:
Often praise, and always love her:

Through her ear, her heart obtain.
Verse shall please, and fighs shall move her;
Cupid does with Phoebus reign.

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TRUE M A I D.

No, no; for my virginity,

When I lofe that, fays Rofe, I'll die Behind the elms, laft night, cry'd Dick, Rofe, were you not extremely fick ?

G 4

ANO

ANOTHER.

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, husbands, from hence, for the peace of your

lives,

That maids make not half fuch a tumult as wives.

A

REASONABLE AFFLICTION.

On his death-bed poor Lubin lies;

His spouse is in despair:

With frequent fobs, and mutual cries,
They both express their care.

A different caufe, fays parfon Sly,
The fame effect may give :

Poor Lubin fears that he fhall die;

His wife, that he may live.

A NO

ANOTHER REASONABLE AFFLICTION.

FROM

her own native France as old Alifon

past,

She reproach'd English Nell with neglect or with
malice,

That the flattern had left, in the hurry and hafte,
Her lady's complexion and eye-brows at Calais.

ANO THE R.

HER eye-brow-box one morning loft,
(The best of folks are ofteneft croft)

Sad Helen thus to Jenny said
(Her careless but afflicted maid),
Put me to bed then, wretched Jane ;
Alas! when fhall I rife again?

I can behold no mortal now:
For what's an eye without a brow?

ON THE SAME SUBJECT.

N a dark corner of the house

IN

Poor Helen fits, and fobs, and cries
She will not fee her loving fpoufe,

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Nor her more dear picquet allies:

Unless she find her eye-brows,
She'll e'en weep out her eyes.

ON

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