The PRETTY BAR-KEEPER of the MITRE. k BALLAD XIV. Written at College, 1741. I. RELAX, fweet girl, your wearied mind, "And to hear the poet talk, "Gentleft creature of your kind, "Lay afide your fponge and chalk; "Ceafe, cease the bar-bell, nor refuse "To hear the jingle of the Muse. II. "Hear your numerous vot'ries prayers, "And all love's foft artillery; "Smiles and throbs, and frowns, and tears, "With all the little hopes and fears. III. She heard-fhe came-and e'er she spoke, Her wanton eyes that wink'd the joke, IV. No handkerchief her bofom hid, No tippet from our fight debars In every gefture, every air, Th' imperfect lifp, the languid eye, In every motion of the fair We awkward imitators vie, And forming our own from her face, VI. If e'er the fneer'd, the mimic crowd Sneer'd too, and all their pipes laid down ; In folemn filence fat profound But did fhe laugh !—the laugh went round. VII. Her fnuff-box if the nymph pull'd out, Dropt fhe her fan beneath her hoop, VIII The tons of culinary Kays Smoaking from the eternal treat, Loft in extatic tranfport gaze, As tho' the fair was good to eat ; Ev'n gloomiest King's men, pleas'd awhile, "Grin horribly a ghaftly fmile." IX. But hark, fhe cries," my mama calls," And ftrait fhe's vanish'd from our fight; "Twas then we saw the empty bowls, 'Twas then we first perceiv'd it night; While all, fad Synod, filent moan, Both that fhe went-and went alone. The WIDOW's RESOLUTION. A Cantata. BALLAD XV. RECITATIVE. SYLVIA, the most contented of her kind, Remain'd in joylefs widowhood refign'd : Away, the cry'd, ye fwains, be mute, Nor with your odious fruitlefs fuit My loyal thoughts contrcul; My grief on Resolution's rock Tho' blith content with jocund air And make me life sustain; That takes it's rife from pain. RECITATIVE. She faid:A youth approach'd of manly grace,. Dido thus of old protested, Ne'er to know a fecond flame ;: But alas fhe found fhe jefted, When the stately Trojan came.. Nature a disguise may borrow, Yet this maxim true will prove, Spite of pride, and spite of forrow, She that has an heart muft love. What on earth is fo enchanting As beauty weeping on her weeds! Thro' flowing eyes on bofom panting What a rapturous ray proceeds? Since from death there's no returning, IT EPISTLE to MRS. TYLER. T ever was allow'd, dear Madam, I fhall not make a long oration |