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The language that flows from the heart

Is a stranger to Paridel's tongue; -Yet may the beware of his art, Or fure I must envy the fong.



E fhepherds, give ear to my lay,

And take no more heed of my sheep: They have nothing to do but to stray;

I have nothing to do but to weep. Yet do not my folly reprove;

She was fair-and my paffion begun;
She fmil'd-and I could not but love;
She is faithlefs-and I am undone.

Perhaps I was void of all thought:
Perhaps it was plain to foresee,
That a nymph fo compleat would be fought
By a fwain more engaging than me.
Ah! love every hope can inspire;

It banishes wifdom the while 3
And the lip of the nymph we admire
Seems for ever adorn'd with a smile.

She is faithlefs, and I am undone;
Ye that witnefs the woes I endure;
Let reafon inftruct you to fhun
What it cannot inftruct you to cure.


Beware how you loiter in vain

Amid nymphs of an higher degree: It is not for me to explain

How fair, and how fickle, they be.

Alas! from the day that we met,
What hope of an end to my woes?
When I cannot endure to forget

The glance that undid my repose.
Yet time may diminish the pain :

The flower, and the fhrub, and the tree, Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain, In time may have comfort for me.

The sweets of a dew-fprinkled rofe,

The found of a murmuring ftream, The peace which from folitude flows, Henceforth fhall be Corydon's theme. High transports are fhewn to the fight, But we are not to find them our own; Fate never bestow'd fuch delight,

As I with my Phyllis had known.

O ye woods, spread your branches apace;
To your deepest receffes I Ay;

I would hide with the beasts of the chace;
I would vanish from every eye.


my reed fhall refound through the grove With the fame fad complaint it begun; How the fmil'd, and I could not but love;

Was faithlefs, and I am undone !






A Decifion for the LADIES.

Wit, by learning well refin'd,

A beau, but of the rural kind,

To Sylvia made pretences;

They both profefs'd an equal love;
Yet hop'd, by different means to move
Her judgment, or her fenfes.

Young sprightly Flirt, of blooming mien,
Watch'd the best minutes to be feen;
Went-when his glass advis'd him :



Phil of books enquir'd;

A wight, for wit and parts admir'd;

And witty ladies priz'd him.

Silvia had wit, had fpiras too;
To hear the one, the other view,

Sufpended held the fcales:

Her wit, her youth too, claim'd its fhare,

Let none, the preference declare,

But turn up-heads or tails.

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STANZAS to the Memory of an agreeable LADY, buried in Marriage to a Perfon undeserving her.

WAS always held, and ever will,


By fage mankind, difcreeter,

T'anticipate a leffer ill,

Than undergo a greater.

When mortals dread diseases, pain,
And languishing conditions;
Who don't the leffer ills fuftain
Of phyfic and physicians?
Rather than lofe his whole eftate,
He that but little wife is,

Full gladly pays four parts in eight

To taxes and excifes.

Our merchants Spain has near undone
For loft fhips not requiting:
This bears our noble king, to fhun
The lofs of blood-in fighting!

With numerous ills, in fingle life,
The bachelor's attended :
Such to avoid, he takes a wife-
And much the cafe is mended!

Poor Gratia in her twentieth year,
Fore-feeing future woe,

Chofe to attend a monkey here,

Before an ape below.



A Culinary ECLOGUE.

"Nec tantum Veneris, quantum ftudiofa culinæ."


IGHT'S fable clouds had half the globe o'erfpread,
And filence reign'd, and folks were gone to bed:
When love, which gentle sleep can ne'er inspire,
Had feated Damon by the kitchen fire.

Penfive he lay, extended on the ground;
The little lares kept their vigils round;
The fawning cats compaffionate his case,
And purr around, and gently lick his face:

To all his plaints the flecping curs reply,
And with hoarfe fnorings imitate a figh.
Such gloomy scenes with lovers' minds agree,
And folitude to them is beft fociety.

Could I (he cry'd) exprefs, how bright a grace Adorns thy morning hands, and well-wash'd face; Thou wouldft, Colemira, grant what I implore, And yield me love, or wash thy face no more.

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Ah! who can fee, and seeing not admire,

Whene'er the fets the pot upon the fire!

Her hands out-fhine the fire, and redder things;
Her eyes are blacker than the pots fhe brings.

But fure no chamber-damfel can compare,
When in meridian luftre fhines my fair,

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