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ET others from the town retire,


And in the fields feek new delight;
My Phillis does fuch joys inspire,
No other objects please my fight.
In her alone I find whate'er

Beauties a country landfchape grace:
No fhade fo lovely as her hair,
Nor plain fo fweet as in her face.
Lilies and rofes there combine,

More beauteous than in flowery field;
Tranfparent is her skin fo fine,

To this each crystal stream must lead.
Her voice more fweet than warbling found,
Though fung by nightingale or lark;
Her eyes fuch luftre dart around,
Compar'd to them, the fun is dark.
Both light and vital heat they give;

Cherish'd by them, my love takes root;
From her kind looks does life receive,

Grows a fair plant, bears flowers and fruit.

Such fruit, I ween, did once deceive
The common parent of mankind;
And made transgress our mother Eve :
Poifon its core, though fair its rind.

Yet fo delicious is its tafte,

I cannot from the bait abftain,
But to th' inchanting pleasure hafte,
Though I were fure 'twould end in pain.




́O—I'll endure ten thousand deaths,
Ere any farther I'll comply;

Oh! Sir, no man on earth that breathes

Had ever yet his hand fo high!

Oh! take your fword, and pierce my heart,
Undaunted fee me meet the wound,

Oh! will you act a Tarquin's part?
A fecond Lucrece you have found.
Thus to the preffing Corydon,
Poor Florimel, unhappy maid!
Fearing by Love to be undone,

In broken dying accents faid.

Delia, who held the confcious door,

Infpir'd by truth and brandy, fmil'd,
Knowing that, fixteen months before,
Our Lucrece had her fecond child.

And, hark ye! Madain, cry'd the Bawd,
None of your flights, your high-rope dodging;
Be civil here, or march abroad;

Oblige the Squire, or quit the lodging.

Oh! have I-Florimel went on-
Have I then loft my Delia's aid?
Where fhall forfaken virtue run,
If by her friend fhe is betray'd?

Oh! curfe on empty friendship's name!
Lord, what is all our future view!
Then, dear destroyer of my fame,
Let my laft fuccour be to you!


From Delia's rage, and Fortune's frown,
A wretched love-fick maid deliver!
Oh! tip me but another crown,

Dear Sir, and make me yours for ever.




HEN Willis of Ephraim heard Rochefter + preach,

Thus Bentley faid to him, I pr'ythee, dear brother, How lik'ft thou this Sermon ? 'tis out of my reach. His is one way, faid Willis, and our's is another. I care not for carping; but, this I can tell, We preach very fadly, if he preaches well.

E P I G R A M‡.

MEEK Francis lies here, friend: without ftop or stay,
As you value your peace, make the best of your way.
Though at prefent arrefted by Death's caitiff paw,
If he ftirs, he may ftill have recourfe to the law.
And in the King's-bench should a verdict be found,
That by livery and feifin his grave is his ground,
He will claim to himself what is strictly his due,
And an action of trefpafs will straightway enfue,
without right on his premiffes tread,
On a fimple furmise that the owner is dead.

That you

Bishop of Gloucester.

+ Bp. Atterbury.

See Atterbury's Letters, in Pope's Works, ed. 1751.


On Bishop ATTERBURY's burying the Duke of


"I HAVE no hopes," the Duke he says, and dies "In fure and certain hopes," the Prelate cries : Of these two learned Peers, I pr'ythee, fay, man, Who is the lying Knave, the Prieft or Layman? The Duke he ftands an Infidel confeft,


"He's our dear Brother," quoth the lordly Prieft. The Duke though Knave, ftill "Brother dear," he cries;

And who can fay, the Reverend Prelate lies?




HONOUR, I fay, or honeft fame,

I mean the fubftance, not the name;
(Not that light heap of taudry wares,
Of ermine, coronets, and stars,
Which often is by merit fought,

By gold and flattery oftener bought;
The fhade, for which Ambition looks
In Selden's or in Afhmole's † books :)
But the true glory, which proceeds,
Reflected bright, from honest deeds,
Which we in our own breaft perceive,
And Kings can neither take nor give.
*Titles of Honor.

+ Order of the Garter.




OY birth I'm a flave, yet can give you a crown, I dispose of all honours, myself having none; I'm oblig'd by just maxims to govern my life, Yet I hang my own mafter, and lie with his wife. When men are a-gaming, I cunningly sneak, And their cudgels and fhovels away from them take. Fair maidens and ladies I by the hand get, And pick off their diamonds, though ne'er fo well fet. For when I have comrades we rob in whole bands, Then presently take off your lands from your hands. But, this fury once over, I've fuch winning arts, That you love me much more than you do your own hearts.



NORM'D half beneath, and half above the earth,
We fifters owe to art our fecond birth :
The Smith's and Carpenter's adopted daughters,
Made on the land, to travel on the waters.
Swifter they move, as they are ftraiter bound,
Yet neither tread the air, or wave, or ground:
They ferve the poor for use, the rich for whim,
Sink when it rains, and when it freezes swim.



THAT all from Adam first began,
None but ungodly Woolfton doubts;

And that his fon, and his fon's fon,

Were all but ploughmen, clowns, and louts.




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