To a Young Lady, on her Lark.

I.

EE how thy captive Lark,

SEE

While Clouds obfcure the Sky,

Sits penfive in his Cage,

And pines for Liberty!

II.

But if the Sun breaks forth,

He ftrait renews his Note;

Forgets he e'er was free,

And swells his warbling Throat.

III.

So when thy awful Brow

Frowns with Difdain or Hate;

I groan beneath thy Yoke,

And curfe my ill-ftarr'd Fate.

7

IV. But

IV.

But when thy heav'nly Face

With pleasing Smiles looks gay,

I blefs my Conqueror,

And glory to obey.

V.

Then fince I'm doom'd thy Slave,

Compaffionate my Pains;

I beg not to be free,

But give me eafie Chains.

L

AST Night when Sleep, with grateful Rest,

Had calm'd the Tumults in my Breast;

My Fancy, to my glad Surprize,

Plac'd Clara's Form before my Eyes:
Her Face, the ufual Seat of Scorn,

Endearing Smiles did then adorn.

I ran with Transport to the Shade,

And clasp'd the visionary Maid ;
"Till waken'd by her pow'rful Charms,
I found my Pillow in my Arms.
Oh fleeting Joys! delufive State!
How like Ixion's is my Fate!
He vainly with prefumptuous Love,
Afpiring to the Wife of Jove;
Embrac'd, instead of Juno fair,
A Proxy-Mistress made of Air.
But my Ambition not fo great,
A fmaller Disappointment met;
And fo a Dame my Bofom warm'd,
Of more fubftantial Feathers form'd.

An EPIGRAM.

O more, O Rome, thy wrong Belief defend,

N°

No more for seven Sacraments contend:

Each wedded Wretch can readily confute
Thy boasted Arguments in this Dispute :
For all, by fad Experience taught, proclaim
Penance and Matrimony are the fame.

ANOTHER.

OT all the Shifts that crafty Rome invents,

Can e'er compleat her Tale of Sacraments: For while the wedded Laymen, to their Coft, Find Matrimony all in Penance loft,

The Clergy own, debarr'd the Nuptial Flame,
Penance and Orders are to them the fame.

On HUMAN LIFE.

1.

Ince all Mankind to Happiness

Since

Lay fome fantastic Claim ;

'Tis ftrange, among fo great a Crowd,

That all should mifs their Aim.

II.

How were I bleft, the Peasant cries,
Had Empire been my Share!

Curft be this Grandeur, fays the Prince,

The Source of all my Care.

III.

As when fome craggy Cliff from far
With Pleasure we furvey;

And, with the diftant Profpect fir'd,
Streight thither make our Way:

IV. But