Her keys he takes; her doors unlocks:
Through wardrobe, and through clofet bounces;
Peeps into every cheft and box;
Turns all her furbelows and flounces.
But dove, depend on't, finds he none;
So to the bed returns again:
And now the maiden, bolder grown,
Begins to treat him with difdain.
I marvel much, fhe fmiling faid,
Your poultry cannot yet be found;
Lies he in yonder flipper dead;
Or, may be, in the tea-pot drown'd?
No, traitor, angry Love replies,
He's hid fomewhere about your breast; A place nor god nor man denies,
For Venus' dove the proper neft:
Search then, she said, put in your hand, And Cynthia, dear protectress, guard me:
As guilty I, or free may ftand,
Do thou or punish or reward me.
Bat ah! what maid to Love can trust! He fcorns, and breaks all legal power: Into her breast his hand he thruft;
And in a moment forc'd it lower.
O, whither do thofe fingers rove,
Cries Cloe, treacherous urchin, whither?
O Venus! I shall find the dove,
Says he; for fure I touch his feather.
As Cloe came into the room t' other day,
I peevish began; where fc long could you ftay? In your life time you never regarded your hour; You promis'd at two; and (pray, look, child) tis four.
A lady's watch needs neither figures nor wheels;
'Tis enough, that 'tis loaded with baubles and feals.
A temper fo heedlefs no mortal can bear-
Thus far I went on with a refolute air.
Lord blefs me! faid fhe; let a body but fpeak!
Here's an ugly hard rofe-bud fallen into my neck :
It has hurt me, and vext me to fuch a degree-
See here for you never believe me; pray see,
On the left fide my breaft, what a mark it has
made!
So faying, her bofom fhe carclefs difplay'd:
That feat of delight I with wonder furvey'd,
And forgot every word 1 defign'd to have faid.
IN fullen humour one day Jove Sent Hermes down to Ida's grove,
Commanding Cupid to deliver
His store of darts, his total quiver;
That Hermes fhould the weapon break,
Or throw them into Lethe's lake.
Hermes, you know, must do his errand : He found his man, produc'd his warrant; Cupid your darts-this very hourThere's no contending against power! How fullen Jupiter, juft now,
I think I faid; and you'll allow
That Cupid was as bad as he :
Hear but the youngster's repartee.
Come kinfman (faid the little god),
Put off your wings, lay by your rod;
Retire with me to yonder bower,
And reft yourself for half an hour:
'Tis far indeed from hence to heaven;
But you fly fast: and 'tis but seven.
We'll take one cooling cup of nectar;
And drink to this celeftial Hector.
He break my darts or hurt my power!
He, Leda's fwan, and Danaë's fhower!
Go, bid him his wife tongue restrain,
And mind his thunder, and his rain.-
My darts! O certainly I'll give 'em :
From Cloe's eyes he fhall receive 'em.
There's one, the best in all my quiver,
Twang through his very heart and liver;
He then shall pine, and figh, and rave:
Good Lord! what bustle fhall we have!
Neptune must fraight be sent to sea,
And Flora fummon'd twice a-day :
One must find fhells, t' other flowers,
For cooling grots, and fragrant bowers,
That Cloe may be ferv'd in state,
The hours must at her toilet wait :
Whilst all the reasoning fools below
Wonder their watches go too flow.
Lybs must fly fouth, and Eurus east,
For jewels for her hair and breast.
No matter, though this cruel hafte
Sink cities, and lay forests waste.
No matter, though this fleet be loft;
Or that lie wind-bound on the coaft.
What whispering in my mother's ear!
What care, that Juno fhould not hear!
What work among you scholar gods!
Phœbus must write him amorous odes.
And thou, poor cousin, must compose
His letters in fubmiffive prose :
Whilst haughty Cloe, to fuftain
The honour of my myftic reign,
Shall all his gifts and vows difdain,
And laugh at your old bully's pain.
Dear couz, faid Hermes in a fright, For heaven's fake! keep your darts: good night.
RESOLVE me, Cloe, what is this: Or forfeit me one precious kifs,
'Tis the first offspring of the graces;
Bears different forms in different places;
Acknowledg'd fine, where'er beheld;
Yet fancied finer, when conceal'd.
'Twas Flora's wealth, and Circe's charm;
Pandora's box of hood and harm;
'Twas Mars's wish, Endymion's dream;
Apelles' draught, and Ovid's theme.
This guided Thefeus through the maze;
And fent him home with life and praise :
But this undid the Phrygian boy;
And blew the flames that ruin'd Troy.
This fhow'd great kindness to old Greece,
And help'd rich Jason to the fle‹ce.
This through the caft juft vengeance hurl'd,
And loft poor Anthony the world.
Injur'd, though Lucrece found her doom,
This banish'd tyranny from Rome.
Appeas'd, though Lais gain'd her hire;
This fet Persepolis on fire.
For this Alcides learn'd to fpin :
His club laid down, and lion's fkin.
For this Apollo deign'd to keep,
With fervile care a mortal's fheep.
For this the father of the gods,
Content to leave his high abodes,
In borrow'd figures loosely ran,
Europa's bull, and Leda's fwan :
For this he reaffumes the nod
(While Semele commands the god);
Launches the bolt, and shakes the poles;
Though Momus laughs, and Juno fcolds.
Here liftening Cloe fmil'd, and said;
Your riddle is not hard to read:
I guess it-Fair one, if you do,
Need I, alas the theme purfue?
For this, thou feeft, for this I leave
Whate'er the world thinks wife or grave,
Ambition, bufiness, friendship, news,
My useful books, and ferious mufe.
For this, I willingly decline
The mirth of feafts, and joys of wine;
And choose to fit and talk with thee
(As thy great orders may decree)
Of cocks and bulls, and flutes and fiddles,
Of idle tales and foolish riddles.
WHAT Nymph fhould I admire, or trust,
But Cloe beauteous, Cloe juft?
What Nymph fhould I defire to fee,
But her who leaves the plain for me?
To whom should I compofe the lay,
But her who liftens when I play?
To whom in song repeat my cares,
But her who in my forrow fhares?
For whom should I the garland make,
But her who joys the gift to take,
And boasts fhe wears it for iny
In love am I not fully bleft?
Lifetta, pr'ythee tell the reft,
SURE Cloe juft, and Cloe fair,
Deferves to be your only care:
But, when you and fhe to-day
Far into the wood did stray,
And I happen'd to pass by;
Which way did you caft your eye?
But, when your cares to her you fing,
Yet dare not tell her whence they spring;
Does it not more afflict your heart,
That in those cares fhe bears a part?
When you the flowers for Cloe twine,
Why do you to her garland join
The meareft bud that falls from mine?
Simpleft of fwains! the world may fee,
Whom Cloc loves, and who loves me.
Let the unthinking many crowd,
What I fpeak, my fair Cloe, and what I write, That dare be covetous and proud:
The difference there is betwixt nature and art: I court others in verfe; but I love thee in profe: And they have my whimsies, but thou haft my heart.
The god of us verfe-men (you know, child) the fun,
How after his journeys he fers up his reft: If at morning o'er earth 'tis his fancy to run; At night he declines on his Thetis's breaft.
So when I am weary'd with wandering all day,
To thee my delight in the evening I come :
No matter what beauties I faw in my way;
They were but my visits, but thou art my home.
Then finish, dear Cloe, this paftoral war;
And let us like Horace and Lydia agree: For thou art a girl as much brighter than her, As he was a poct fublimer than me.
THE Trojan (wain had judg'd the great dispute,
And beauty's power obtain'd the golden fruit;
When Venus, loofe in all her naked charms,
Met Jove's great daughter clad in fbining arms.
The wanton goddess view'd the warlike maid
From head to foot, and tauntingly the faid:
Yield, fifter; rival, yield: naked, you fee,
I vanquish guefs how potent I should be,
If to the field I came in armour dreft
[creft!
Dreadful, like thine, my fhield, and terrible my
The warrior goddef with difdain reply'd:
Thy folly, child, is equal to thy pride:
Let a brave enemy for once advise,
And Venus (if 'tis poffible) be wife.
Thou, to be ftrong, must put off every dress;
Thy only armour is thy nakednefs;
And more than once (or thou art much bely'd) By Mars himself that armour has been try'd.
TO A YOUNG GENTLEMAN IN LOVE.
FROM public noife and factious ftrife,
From all the busy ills of life,
Take me, my Celia, to thy breast,
And lull my wearied foul to rest.
For ever, in this humble cell,
Let thee and I, my fair one, dwell;
None enter else, but love—and he
Shall bar the door, and keep the key.
To painted roofs and fhining fpires
(Uneafy feats of high desires)
In golden bondage let them wait,
And barter happiness for state.
But oh! my Celia, when thy swain
Defires to fee a court again,
May heaven around this deftin'd head
'The choiceft of its curfes fhed!
To fum up all the rage of fate
In the two things I dread and hate,
May't thou be falfe, and I be great!
Thus, on his Celia's panting breast,
Fond Celad n his foul expreft;
While with delight the lovely maid
Receiv'd the vows the thus repaid:
Hope of my age, joy of my youth,
Bleft miracle of love and truth;
All that could e'er be counted mine,
My love and life. long fince are thine;
A real joy I never knew,
Till I believ'd thy paffion true:
A real grief I ne'er can find,
Till thou prov't perjur'd, or unkind.
Contempt. and poverty, and care,
All we abhor, and all we fear,
Bleft with thy prefence, I can bear.
Through waters and through flames I'll go,
Sufferer and folace of thy woe:
Trace me fome yet unheard-of way,
That I thy ardour may repay;
And make my constant paffion known
By more than woman yet has done.
Had I a wish that did not bear
The stamp and image of my dear;
I'd pierce my heart through every vein,
And die, to let it out again.
No: Venus fhall my witness be
(If Venus ever lov'd like me),
That for one hour I would not quit
My fhepherd's arms, and this retreat,
To be the Ferfian monarch's bride,
Partner of all his power and pride;
Or rule in regal state above,
Mother of gods, and wife of Jove.
"O happy thefe of human race!"
But foon, alas! our pleasures pafs.
He thank'd her on his bended knee;
Then drank a quart of milk and tea ;
And, leaving her ador'd embrace,
Haften'd to court, to beg a place.
While fhe, his abfence to bemoan,
The very moment he was gone,
Call'd Thyrfis from beneath the bed!
Where all this time he had been hid,
WHILE men have thefe ambitious fancies;
And wanton wenches read romances ;
Our fex will-What? Out with it. Lye;
And theirs in equal ftrains reply.
The moral of the tale I fing
(A pofy for a wedding ring)
In this fhort verfe will be confin'd:
Love is a jelt, and vows are wind,
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