Nor are ber Shoulders fit to bear
The Weight of Love, when it once faftens there;
She'd rather wanton in a Stream,
Or in the flow'ry Meadows play,
As yet not confcious of a Flame,
But that which fcorches her, the Day.
Awhile your Importunities delay,
Time will difclofe the hidden Treafure,
Then with a juft Consent you may
Take the Poffeffion of the Pleasure.
Already he reveals her Flame,
The God of Love is big within her:
Her Words, her Eyes, her every thing proclaim
How fain fhe'd be a Sinner.
See with what fervent Heat he preffes,
`As if she'd challenge your Addresses.
See how the Blushes fly from ev'ry Part
And foftly tell the Dictates of her Heart.
Nor is it all fo ftrange and new,
Nature fupplies the Strength she takes from your
The fprightly Nymph no longer can conceal,
Her Morning Beauty she's refolv'd to spend
With fome deferving Friend,
Per Death o'er all her Glories draws the Veil.
To tell the Truth, fhe's exquifitely fine,
In her the fcatter'd Rays of Beauty join,
Nature in her has her whole self undone;
And robs the Sex, to Crowd them into one.
Chloris and Phillis fomething fair,
Are but as Foils, should they with her compare.]
The Moon her felf when at the Full, Is in respect but gloomy, dark and dull;
Nay pretty Ned's most amorous Grace, Can't reach the bright Perfection of her Face, Tho' to a Miracle fo neat,
You'd fwear he were a Cheat.
Englished by Mr. DU K E.
In the First Mifcellany, Pag. 110.
ever any injur'd Power,
By which the falle Barine fwore,
Falfe, fair Barine, on thy Head
Had the leaft Mark of Vengeance fhed;.
If but a Tooth or Nail of thee
Had fuffer'd by thy Perjury,
I fhould believe thy Vows; but thou
Since perjur'd doft more charming grow:
Of all our Youth the publick Care,
Nor half fo falfe as thou art fair.
It thrives with thee to be forfworn
By thy dead Mother's facred Urn,
By Heaven, and all the Stars that shine
Without, and every God within.
Venus hears this, and all the while
At thy empty Vows does smile;
Her Nymphs all fmile, ber little Son
Does fmile, and to his Quiver run:
Does fmile, and fall to whet his Darts,
To wound for thee fresh Lovers Hearts.
See all the Youth does thee obey,
Thy Train of Slaves grows every Day;
Nor leave thy former Subjects thee,
Tho' oft they threaten to be free;
Tho' oft with Vows falle as thine are,
Their forfworn Mistress they forfwear.
Thee every careful Mother fears
For her Son's Blooming Tender Years;
Thee frugal Sires, thee the young Bride,
In Hymen's Fetters newly ty'd,
Left thou detain, by ftronger Charms,
Th' expected Husband from her Arms.
TRuft me, dear Friend, the safest way,
To fleer in Life's inconftant Sea,
Is not too far to trust the treach'rous Tide,
Whilft the fmooth Waters gently glides
Nor whilst the angry Billows roar,
To touch too nigh upon the dang'rous Shore.
As his great Soul difdains the homely Cell
Where humble Poverty doth dwell;
So is his Modefty as great,
To baulk the Envy of a Princely State.
The haughty Pine which proudly shrouds
Its leafy Brow among the Clouds,
Stands ftill expos'd to each rude Blaft of Wind:
Nor can the lofty Tow'rs find,
When the loud Thunder-ftorms arife,
Any Protection in their Neighbour Skies.
He who's a Slave to neither State,
Nor fhrinks when Poor, nor fwells when Great.
For Jove, the fame who does the Winter bring,
Will close the frozen Scene again ;
When the fair Spring hall foon appear,
In all her Charms to grace the new-born Year.
Tho' now the Clouds feem big with Rain,
Yet fear not, 'twill clear up again.
His Bow Apollo do's not always bend,
Nor on wild Beafts his Fury spend;
But fometimes does his Mufe infpire
With the foft Accents of his milder Lyre.
Beware, when Fortune proves unkind,
To keep a fteddy well-pois'd Mind ĵ
That, whatsoever Storms appear,
All may be calm and quiet there:
But when with too indulgent Gales
She fills, then gather in your fwelling Sails.
Rectius vives, Licini, &c.
'TIS much the better Way, believe me 'tis
Not far to venture on the great Abyss,
Nor yet (from Storms thy Veffel to secure)
To touch too nigh upon the dangerous Shore.
The Golden Mean, as the's too nice to dwell
Among the Ruins of a filthy Cell,
So is her Modefty withal as great,
To baulk the Envy of a Princely Seat.
Th'ambitious Winds with greater Spite combine
To fhock the Grandeur of the ftately Pine.
The Height of Structure makes the Ruin large,
And Clouds against high Hills their hotteft Bolts difcharge.
An Even Well-pois'd Mind, an Evil State
With Hope, a Good with Fear does moderate.
The Summer's Pride by Winter is brought down,
And Flowers again the Conquering Seafon crown.
Take heart, nor of the Laws of Fate complain, 'Tho' now 'tis cloudy, 'twill clear up again.
The Bow Apollo does not always use,
But with his milder Lyre fometimes awakes the Mufe.
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