I'd fhun her paths, upon thy mouth to dwell,
More fweet than powder which the merchants fell.
O folace me with kiffes pure like thine!
Enjoy, ye lords, the wanton concubine.

The fpring now calls us forth; come, fifter, come,
To fee the primrose and the daisy bloom.
Let ceremony bind the worldly pair;
Sifters eftcem the brethren's words fincere.

Tabitha.

Efpoufals are but forms. O lead me hence,
For fecret love can never give offence.

Then hand in hand the loving mates withdraw g
True love is nature unreftrain'd by law.
This tenet all the holy fect allows;
So Tabitha took earnest of a spouse.

PANTHE A.

LONG had Panthea felt love's secret smart,
And hope and fear alternate rul'd her heart;
Confenting glances had her flame confest :
In woman's eyes her very foul's expreft.
Perjur'd Alexis faw the blufhing maid,
He faw, he fwore, he conquer'd, and betray'd.
Another love now calls him from her arms,
His fickle heart another beauty warms;
Thofe oaths, oft' whisper'd in Panthea's ears,
He now again to Galatea fwears.
Beneath a beech th' abandon'd virgin laid,
In grateful folitude enjoys the fhade;
There with faint voice the breath'd thefe moving
While fighing zephyrs fhar'd her amorous pains.
Pale fettled forrow hangs upon my brow,
Dead are my charms; Alexis breaks his vow!
Think, think, dear fhepherd, on the days you
knew,

[ftrains,

When I was happy, when my swain was true; Think how thy looks and tongue are form'd to

move;

And think yet more-that all my fault was love.
Ah, could you view me in this wretched state,
You might not love me, but you could not hate.
Could you behold me in this conscious fhade,
Where first thy vows, where first my love was
paid,

Worn out with watching, fullen with despair,
And fee each eye fwell with a gufhing tear;
Could you behold me on this moffy bed,
From my pale cheek the lively crimson fled,
Which in my softer hours you oft' have sworn,
With rofy beauty far outblush'd the morn;
Could you untouch'd this wretched object bear,
And would not loft Panthea claim a tear? [fteal,
You could not, fure-tears from your eyes would
And unawares thy tender foul reveal.
Ah no! thy foul with cruelty is fraught,
No tenderness disturbs thy favage thought;
Sooner fhall tigers fpare the trembling lambs,
And wolves with pity hear their bleating dams;
Sooner fhall vultures from their quarry fly;
Than falfe Alexis for Panthea figh.

Thy bofom ne'er a tender thought confeft,
Sure ftubborn flint has arm'd thy cruel breaft;
But hardest flints are worn by frequent rains,
And the foft drops diffolve their folid veins;
While thy relentless heart more hard appears,
And is not foften'd by a flood of tears.

Ah, what is love! Panthea's joys are gone,
Her liberty, her peace, her reason, flown!
And when I view me in the watery glass,
I find Panthea now, not what she was.
As northern winds the new-blown rofes blaft,
And on the ground their fading ruins caft;
As fudden blights corrupt the ripen'd grain,
And of its verdure spoil the mournful plain;
So hapless love on blooming features preys,
So hapless love deftroys our peaceful days.

Come, gentle fleep, relieve these weary'd eyes,
All forrow in thy foft embraces dies:
There, fpite of all thy perjur'd vows, I find
Faithlefs Alexis languishingly kind:
Sometimes he leads me by the mazy stream,
And pleasingly deludes me in my dream;
Sometimes he guides me to the secret grove,
Where all our looks, and all our talk is love.
Oh, could I thus confume each tedious day,
And in fweet flumbers dream my life away!
But fleep, which now no more relieves these eyes,
To my fad foul the dear deceit denies.

Why does the fun dart forth its cheerful rays?
Why do the woods refound with warbling lays?
Why does the rofe her grateful fragrance yield,
And yellow cowflips paint the fmiling field?
Why do the streams with murmuring mufic flow,
And why do groves their friendly shade bestow?
Let fable clouds the cheerful fun déface,
Let mournful filence feize the feather'd race;
No more, ye rofes, grateful fragrance yield,
Droop, droop, ye cowflips, in the blafted field;
No more, ye ftreams, with murmuring mufic
flow,

And let not groves a friendly fhade bestow:
With fympathifing grief let nature mourn,
And never know the youthful fpring's return.

And shall I never more Alexis fee?

Then what is fpring, or grove, or stream, to me?
Why fport the skipping lambs on yonder plain?
Why do the birds their tuneful voices ftrain?
Why frisk thofe heifers in the cooling grove?
Their happier life is ignorant of love.

Oh, lead me to fome melancholy cave,
To lull my forrows in a living grave;
From the dark rock where dashing waters fall,
And creeping ivy hangs the craggy wall;
Where I may waste in tears my hours away,
And never know the seasons or the day?
Die, die, Panthea-fly this hateful grove;
For what is life without the fwain I love?

ARAMINTA.

AN ELEGY.

Now Phœbus rofe, and with his early beams
Wak'd flumbering Delia from her pleafing dreams;
Her wishes by her fancy were supply'd,
And in her fleep the nuptial knot was ty'd.
With fecret joy fhe faw the morning ray
Chequer the floor, and through the curtains play;
The happy morn that shall her blifs complete,
And all her rivals' envious hopes defeat.
In hafte fhe rofe, forgetful of her prayers,
Flew to the glafs, and practis'd o'er her airs:
Her new-fet jewels round her robe are plac'd,
Some in a brilliant buckle bind her waist,
Some round her neck a circling light display,
Some in her hair diffuse a trembling ray;
The filver knot o'erlooks the Mechlin lace,
And adds becoming beauties to her face;
Brocaded flowers o'er the gay mantua shine,
And the rich flays her taper shape confine;
Thus all her drefs exerts a graceful pride,
And sporting loves furround th' expecting bride;
For Daphnis now attends the blufhing maid,
Before the priest the folemn vows are paid;
This day, which ends at once all Delia's cares,
Shall fwell a thousand eyes with fecret tears.
Ceafe, Araminta, 'tis in vain to grieve,
Canft thou from Hymen's bonds the youth re-
trieve?

Difdain his perjuries, and no longer mourn :
Recal my love, and find a fure return.

But ftill the wretched maid no comfort knows,
And with resentment cherishes her woes;
Alone the pines, and, in these mournful strains,
Of Daphnis' vows, and her own fate complains:
Was it for this I fparkled at the Play,
And loiter'd in the Ring whole hours away?
When if thy chariot in the circle fhone,
Our mutual paffion by our looks was known:
Through the gay crowd my watchful glances flew,
Where'er I pafs, thy grateful eyes purfue. [pain;
"Ah, faithlefs youth! too well you faw my
"For eyes the language of the foul explain."
Think, Daphnis, think that scarce five days are
fled,
[you faid;
Since (O falfe tongue!) thofe treacherous things
How did you praise my shape and graceful air!
And woman thinks all compliments fincere.
Didft thou not then in rapture speak thy flame,

Didft thou not then with oaths thy paffion prove, And with an awful trembling, fay-Ilove? [pain; "Ah, faithless youth! too well you faw my "For eyes the language of the foul explain." How could't thou thus, ungrateful youth, de ceive?

How could I thus, unguarded maid, believe ?
Sure thou canft well recal that fatal night,
When fubtle love first enter'd at my fight :
When in the dance I was thy partner chose,
Gods! what a rapture in my bofom rose!
My trembling hand my fudden joy confefs'd,
My glowing cheeks a wounded heart exprefs'd;
My looks fpoke love; while you, with answering

eyes,

In killing glances made as kind replies. [faid,
Think, Daphnis, think what tender things you
Think what confufion all my foul betray'd.
You call'd my graceful prefence Cynthia's air;
And, when I fung, the fyrens charm'd your car:
My flame, blown up by flattery, ftronger grew;
A gale of love in every whisper flew.
["pain;

"Ah, faithlefs youth! too well you faw my "For eyes the language of the foul explain." Whene'er I drefs'd, my maid, who knew my flame,

Cherish'd my paffion with thy lovely name;
Thy picture in her talk fo lively grew,
That thy dear image rofe before my view;
She dwelt whole hours upon thy fhape and mien
And wounded Delia's fame, to footh my spleen:
When the beheld me at the name grow pale,
Strait to thy charms fhe chang'd her artful tale;
And, when thy matchless charms were quite run
o'er,

I bid her tell the pleafing tale once more.
Oh, Daphnis! from thy Araminta fled!
Oh, to my love for ever, ever dead!
Like death, his nuptials all my hope remove,
And ever part me from the man I love. [" pain;
"Ah, faithless youth! too well you faw my
"For eyes the language of the foul explain."

O might I by my cruel fate be thrown,
In fome retreat far from this hateful town!
Vain drefs and glaring equipage, adieu!
Let happier nymphs thofe empty shows purfuc
Me let fome melancholy fhade furround,
Where not the print of human step is found.
In the gay dance my feet no more fhall move,
But bear me faintly through the lonely grove.
No more thefe hands fhall o'er the fpinnet bound,
And from the fleeping ftrings call forth the found
Mufic, adieu! farewell, Italian airs!

The croaking raven now fhall footh my cares.
On fome old ruin, lost in thought, I reft,
And think how Araminta once was bleft;
There o'er and o'er thy letters I peruse,
And all my grief in one kind fentence lofe;
Some tender line by chance my woe beguiles,
And on my cheek a fhort-liv'd pleasure smiles.
Why is this dawn of joy? flow, tears, again!
Vain are thefe oaths, and all thefe vows are vain ;
Daphnis, alas the Gordian knot has ty'd;
Nor force nor cunning can the band divide. [plain,
"Ah, faithlefs youth fince eyes the foul ex-

AN ELEGY ON A LAP-DOG.

SHOCK's fate I mourn; poor Shock is now no more;

Ye mufes, mourn; ye chambermaids, deplore.
Unhappy Shock! yet more unhappy fair,
Doom'd to furvive thy joy and only care!
Thy wretched fingers now no more shall deck,
And tie the favourite ribband round his neck;
No more thy hand shall smooth his gloffy haire
And comb the wavings of his pendent ear.
Yet ceafe thy flowing grief, forfaken maid;
All mortal pleasures in a moment fade;
Our furelt hope is in an hour destroy'd;
And love, best gift of Heaven, not long enjoy'd.
Methinks I fee her frantic with despair,

Her Mechlin pinners, rent, the floor beftrow,
And her torn fan gives real signs of woe.
Hence fuperftition, that tormenting guest,
That haunts with fancy'd fears the coward breaft;
No dread events upon this fate attend,
Stream eyes no more, no more thy treffes rend.
Though certain omens oft' forewarn a ftate,
And dying lions show the monarch's fate;
Why should fuch fears bid Cælia's forrow rife?
For, when a lap-dog falls, no lover dies.

Ceafe, Calia, cease; reftrain thy flowing tears;
Some warmer paffion will difpel thy cares.
In man you'll find a more fubftantial bliss,
More grateful toying, and a sweeter kifs.

He's dead. Oh lay him gently in the ground! And may his tomb be by this verse renown'd: "Here Shock, the pride of all his kind, is laid : Who fawn'd like man, but ne'er like man be"tray'd."

SWEET WILLIAM'S FAREWELL TO BLACK-EYED SUSAN.

ALL in the Downs the fleet was moor'd,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-ey'd Susan came aboard.

Oh where fhall I my true-love find?
Tell me, ye jovial failors, tell me true,
If my fweet William fails among the crew.
William, who high upon the yard

Rock'd with the billow to and fro,
Soon as her well-known voice he heard,

He figh'd, and caft his eyes below: The cord flides swiftly through his glowing hands, And (quick as lightning) on the deck be stands. So the fweet lark, high pois'd in air, Shuts close his pinions to his breast (If chance his mate's fhrill call he hear), And drops at once into her neft. The nobleft captain in the British fleet Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet.

O Sufan, Sufan, lovely dear,

if to fair India's coaft we fail,

Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright,
Thy breath is Afric's fpicy gale,

Thy fkin is ivory fo white.
Thus every beauteous object that I view,
Wakes in my foul fome charm of lovely Sue.
Though battle call me from thy arms,

Let not my pretty Sufan mourn;
Though cannons roar, yet, fafe from harms,
William fhall to his dear return.

Love turns afide the balls that round me fly,
Left precious tears fhould drop from Sufan's eye.
The boatswain gave the dreadful word,

The fails their fwelling bofom fpread; No longer must she stay aboard:

They kif'd, the figh'd, he hung his head. Her leffening boat unwilling rows to land: Adieu! The cries; and wav'd her lily hand. A BALLAD,

FROM THE WHAT-D'YE-CALL-IT.

'Twas when the feas were roaring With hollow blafts of wind; A damfel lay deploring,

All on a rock reclin'd. Wide o'er the foaming billows She caft a wistful look; Her head was crown'd with willows, That trembled o'er the brook. Twelve months are gone and over,

And nine long tedious days. Why didft thou, venturous lover,

Ceafe, cease, thou cruel ocean,
And let my lover rest:
Ah what's thy troubled motion
To that within my breast?

The merchant, robb'd of pleasure,
Sees tempefts in despair;
But what's the lofs of treasure,
To lofing of my dear?
Should you fome coast be laid on,
Where gold and diamonds grow,
You'd find a richer maiden,

But none that loves you fo.
How can they say that mature
Has nothing made in vain ;
Why then beneath the water

Should hideous rocks remain? No eyes the rocks discover,

That lurk beneath the deep, To wreck the wandering lover, And leave the maid to weep. All melancholy lying,

Thus wail'd fhe for her dear; Repay'd each blast with fighing, Each billow with a tear; When o'er the white wave ftooping,

His floating corpse she spy'd;

Then, like a lily drooping,

She bow'd her head, and dy'd.

THE LADY'S LAMENTATION.

A BALLAD.

PHYLLIDA, that lov'd to dream
In the grove, or by the stream;

Sigh'd on velvet pillow.
What alas! fhould fill her head,
But a fountain, or a mead,
Water and a willow?

Love in cities never dwells,
He delights in rural cells

Which fweet woodbine covers.
What are your affemblies then?
There, 'tis true, we fee more men;

But much fewer lovers.

Oh, how chang'd the profpect grows! Flocks and herds to fops and beaux,

Coxcombs without number! Moon and stars that fhone fo bright, To the torch and waxen light,

And whole nights at ombre. Pleasant as it is, to hear Scandal tickling in our ear,

Ev'n of our own mothers;

In the chit-chat of the day,

To us is pay'd, when we're away,
What we lent to others.

Though the favourite toast I reign;
Wine, they fay, that prompts the vain,
Heightens defamation.

Muft I live 'twixt fpite and fear,
Every day grow handfomer,

Thus the fair to fighs gave way,
Her empty purfe befide her lay.

Nymph, ah, cease thy forrow.
Though curft fortune frown to-night,
This odious town can give delight,
If you win to-morrow.

DAMON AND CUPID.

A SONG.

THE fun was now withdrawn,
The shepherds home were fped;
The moon wide o'er the lawn
Her filver mantle fpread;
When Damon stay'd behind,
And faunter'd in the grove,
Will ne'er a nymph be kind,
And give me love for love?
Oh! those were golden hours,
When love, devoid of cares,

In all Arcadia's bowers

Lodg'd fwains and nymphs by pairs; But now from wood and plain Flies every sprightly lafs;

No joys for me remain,

In fhades, or on the grass.

The winged boy draws near,

And thus the fwain reproves: While beauty revel'd here,

My game lay in the groves; At court I never fail

To fcatter round my arrows; Men fall as thick as hail,

And maidens love like fparrows. Then, fwain, if me you need,

Straight lay your sheep-hook down; Throw by your oaten reed,

And hafte away to town.

So well I'm known at court,
None asks where Cupid dwells;
But readily refort

To Bellenden's or Lepell's.

DAPHNIS AND CHLOE.

A SONG.

DAPHNIS flood penfive in the shade, With arms acrofs, and head reclin'd; Pale looks accus'd the cruel maid,

And fighs reliev'd his love-fick mind: His tuneful pipe all broken lay; Looks, fighs, and actions, feem'd to say,

My Chloe is unkind.

Why ring the woods with warbling throats? Ye larks, ye linnets, cease your strains;

I faintly hear in your sweet notes

My Chloe's voice that wakes my pains:
Yet why should you your fong forbear?
Your mates delight your fong to hear;
But Chloe mine difdains.

As thus he melancholy stood,
Dejected as the lonely dove,

Sweet founds broke gently through the wood.

AN ELEGY ON A LAP-DOG.

SHOCK's fate I mourn; poor Shock is now no more;

Ye mufes, mourn; ye chambermaids, deplore.
Unhappy Shock! yet more unhappy fair,
Doom'd to furvive thy joy and only care!
Thy wretched fingers now no more shall deck,
And tie the favourite ribband round his neck;
No more thy hand shall smooth his gloffy hairy
And comb the wavings of his pendent ear.
Yet ceafe thy flowing grief, forfaken maid;
All mortal pleasures in a moment fade;
Our furelt hope is in an hour deftroy'd;
And love, beft gift of Heaven, not long enjoy'd.
Methinks I fee her frantic with despair,
Her ftreaming eyes, wrung hands, and flowing
hair;

Her Mechlin pinners, rent, the floor beftrow,
And her torn fan gives real figns of woe.
Hence fuperftition, that tormenting guest,
That haunts with fancy'd fears the coward breast;
No dread events upon this fate attend,
Stream eyes no more, no more thy treffes rend.
Though certain omens oft' forewarn a state,
And dying lions fhow the monarch's fate;
Why should fuch fears bid Cælia's forrow rife?
For, when a lap-dog falls, no lover dies.

Ceafe, Calia, cease; restrain thy flowing tears;
Some warmer paffion will dispel thy cares.
In man you'll find a more fubftantial blifs,
More grateful toying, and a sweeter kifs.

He's dead. Oh lay him gently in the ground! And may his tomb be by this verfe renown'd: "Here Shock, the pride of all his kind, is laid: "Who fawn'd like man, but ne'er like man be"tray'd."

SWEET WILLIAM'S FAREWELL TO BLACK-EYED SUSAN.

ALL in the Downs the fleet was moor'd,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-ey'd Sufan came aboard.

Oh where fhall I my true-love find?
Tell me, ye jovial failors, tell me true,
If my fweet William fails among the crew.
William, who high upon the yard

Rock'd with the billow to and fro,
Soon as her well-known voice he heard,

He figh'd, and caft his eyes below:

The cord flides fwiftly through his glowing hands,
And (quick as lightning) on the deck be stands.
So the fweet lark, high pois'd in air,

Shuts close his pinions to his breast
(If chance his mate's fhrill call he hear),
And drops at once into her neft.
The noblest captain in the British fleet
Might envy William's lip thofe kisses sweet.

O Sufan, Sufan, lovely dear,

My vows fhall ever true remain; Let me kifs off that falling tear;

We only part to meet again.

Change, as ye lift, ye winds; my heart fhall be The faithful compass that fill points to thee. Believe not what the landmen say,

Who tempt with doubts thy conftant mind. They'll tell thee, failors, when away,

In every port a mistress find:

Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thec fo,

if to fair India's coaft we fail,

Thy eyes are feen in diamonds bright, Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,

Thy skin is ivory fo white.

Thus every beauteous object that I view,
Wakes in my foul fome charm of lovely Sue.
Though battle call me from thy arms,

Let not my pretty Sufan mourn;
Though cannons roar, yet, fafe from harms,
William fhall to his dear return.

Love turns afide the balls that round me fly, Left precious tears fhould drop from Sufan's eye. The boatfwain gave the dreadful word,

The fails their fwelling bofom fpread; No longer must she stay aboard:

They kif'd, the figh'd, he hung his head. Her leffening boat unwilling rows to land : Adieu! the cries; and wav'd her lily hand.

A BALLAD,

FROM THE WHAT-D'YE-CALL-IT.

'Twas when the feas were roaring
With hollow blafts of wind;
A damfel lay deploring,

All on a rock reclin'd.
Wide o'er the foaming billows

She caft a wiftful look;
Her head was crown'd with willows,
That trembled o'er the brook.
Twelve months are gone and over,

And nine long tedious days. Why didst thou, venturous lover,