Y Florio, wildest of his fex,
M (Who fure the verieft faint wou'd vex)
From beauty roves to beauty;
Yet, tho' abroad the wanton roam,
Whene'er he deigns to stay at home,
He always minds his duty.
Something to every charming she,
In thoughtless prodigality,
He's granting still and granting,
To Phyllis that, to Cloe this,
And every madam, every miss;
Yet I find nothing wanting.
If haply I his will displease,
Tempeftuous as th' autumnal feas
He foams and rages ever;
But when he ceases from his ire,
I cry, fuch spirit, and fuch fire,
Is furely wond'rous clever.
I ne'er want reason to complain;
But fweet is pleasure after pain,
And every joy grows greater.
Then trust me, damfels, whilft I tell,
I fhould not like him half fo well,
If I cou'd make him better.
ROM morn to night, from day to day,
At all times and at every place,
You fcold, repeat, and fing, and fay,
Nor are there hopes, you'll ever cease.
Fobear, my Celia, oh! forbear,
If your own health, or ours you prize;
For all mankind that hear you, swear
Your tongue's more killing than your eyes.
Dd
Your tongue's a traytor to your face,
Your fame's by your own noife obfcur'd,
All are diftracted while they gaze ;
But if they liften, they are cur'd.
Your filence wou'd acquire more praise,
Than all you fay, or all I write;
One look ten thoufand charms displays;
Then hush --- and be an angel quite.
ROM all her fair loquacious kind,
So different is my Rosalind,
That not one accent can I gain
To crown my hopes, or footh my pain.
Ye lovers, who can conftrue fighs,
And are the interpreters of eyes,
To language all her looks tranflate,
And in her gestures read my fate.
And if in them you chance to find
Ought that is gentle, ought that's kind,
Adieu mean hopes of being great,
And all the littleness of ftate.
All thoughts of grandeur I'll defpife,
Which from dependence take their rise;
To serve her shall be my employ,
And love's sweet agony my joy.
The glitt'ring fpear, and maffy fhield;
Yet fafe from force and fraud combin'd,
She is an Amazon in mind.
With this artillery fhe goes,
Not only 'mongft the harmless beaux :
But even unhurt and undifmay'd,
Views the long fword and fierce cockade.
Tho' all a fyren as fhe talks,
And all a goddess as fhe walks,
Yet decency each action guides,
And wisdom o'er her tongue prefides,
Place her in Ruffia's fhowery plains,
Where a perpetual winter reigns,
The elements may rave and range,
Yet her fix'd mind will never change.
Place her, Ambition, in thy tow'rs,
'Mongst the more dang'rous golden fhow'rs,
E'en there fhe'd fpurn the venal tribe,
And fold her arms against the bribe.
Leave her defencelefs and alone,
A pris'ner in the torrid zone,
The funfhine there might vainly vie
With the bright luftre of her eye;
But Phoebus' felf, with all his fire,
Cou'd ne'er one unchafte thought infpire.
But virtue's path fhe'd fill purfue,
And ftill, my fair, wou'd copy you.
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