Whofe rofy Colours ne'er return,

But I, with equal Ardour, burn.

In Pity, O! ye Stars, incline

To warm my Cloe's Breaft, like mine.
But fly, thou dull and envious Cover,
And relieve the wishing Lover.
When my Eyes no more can trace
The dazling Luftre of her Face,
Her fnowy Neck they may explore,
And safely range its Beauties o'er.

I

7

CHARM

I ask'd Apollo's Aid,

That I might fing, in Numbers fit,

Th' Harmonious, Heav'nly Maid.

II.

Unless, faid He, She form the Song,

Unless She fing the Strain,

The Sense, the Music of her Tongue,

Muft undefcrib'd remain.

Ampho

Amphora plena! mei Titulo ves digna Sepulchri :

TH

Hujus ero vivus, mortuus hujus ero.

HUS faid Kingstone, When I die,
Write me a Liquid Elegy:

Write,

Here lies One, who thought no Harm in

A large, capacious Bellar-min:

But chose it for his Urn, to lie in;
Thirsty Living, Thirsty Dying.

On Mr. Welfted's prefenting his Ode on the Duke of Marlborough's Apoplexy, to a Celebrated Toaft.

I

F, thus, the Tuneful Bard his Voice can raise,

When England's MARS, expiring, damps his Lays, How! could he fing, and in what rapturous Rhimes Defcribe the Living VENUS of our Times?

The ROVER Fix'd.

I.

CLOE! Your Sovereign Charms, I own;

I feel the fatal Smart;

The Glory, YOU can boast, alone,

To fix my wand'ring Heart.

II. Your

II.

Your beauteous Sex, with various Grace,

My Paffions, oft, have mov'd;

And now a Shape, and then a Face,

As Fancy led, I lov❜d.

III.

So, does the Vagrant Bee explore
Each Sweet, that Nature yields;

Lightly, the skims from Flow'r, to Flo'wr,

But! You have found the cruel Art

To cure my Roving Mind;

Each Female Beauty You impart;
Your Sex, in One, combin'd.