Then, while the fun darts kind his beams, A plenteous harvest wifely make; Meet with a due return my flames; A heart both justly give and take: For fear your beauties fhou'd decline; BE EAUTY and innocence, distrest, With pity first infpir'd my breaft; And pity kindled into love. No cares, no courtship did I fpare, At once to aid and win the fair; Yet ftill, alas, in vain I ftrovekal ove The giddy nymph my aid refus'd; My youth defpis'd; my love abus'd; Nor wou'd her wanton heart be won: While to a homeless fhepherd's arms, The ripening harveft of her charms She yields, unfought; and is undone. Pity began, and ends my flame; Nor Sylvia, nor my fate I blame;" These fighs alone, compaffion vents. Thus the fuffering patriot grieves; Thus the people's fcorn receives; And o'er the ruin'd land laments. 1 ...t. Epi Epithalamium. APPY youth, thy fears difmifs, And prepare, prepare to prove All the extreams of coming blifs, All the foft extreams of love: Youth and beauty now invite you To diffolve in melting pleasure; Youth and beauty shall delight you, With all their joys, with all their treasure: Indulge your raptures, and your hours poffefs In ecstacies of smiling love's excefs! Wanton Zephyrs love inspire, While they fan the whispering trees; Prefent Cupid lights thy fire, Prefent beauty gives thee cafe: Happy pair indulge the bleffing, Damp no joy with needlefs rigour While fecurely you're careffing, Raife the blifs with mutual vigours Livię (3 Your murmurs fofter than the turtles prove, Than Conches more clofe your kiffes when you love; And when around your curling arms you twine, More strict embraces give, than ivy, or the vine. A Defiance to CUPID. UPID, forbear thy childish arts; Thy quiver emptied of its darts On me, wou'd harmless prove. In vain, fond boy, Miranda's eyes Thy Cloe's dimpled cheeks adorn The fnowy neck, the flender waift, The ruby lip, with moisture grac'd, I view without a vow. Shou'd thy bright mother, beauty's queen, To flight her proffer'd charms. This bold defiance Strephon fends:"" We are not foes; we are not friends: TH To CELIA's Spinet. HOU foft machine that doft her hand obey, To fhun my moan, to thee fhe'll fly, To her touch be fure reply; And, if the removes it, die. Know thy blifs, with rapture shake, Song L Song for the KING's Birth-Day. AY thy flow'ry garlands by, Other honours now are nigh; Majefty and great renown GEORGE on Britain didft bestow. Call thy better blessings forth, For the honour of his birth: Still the voice of loud commotion, Lay the billows of the ocean; Queen of odours, fragrant May, VOL. III. C Fanus, |