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HEN Celia, Love's eternal foe,


To rich old Gomez first was marry'd;

And angry Cupid came to know,

His shafts had err'd, his bow miscarry'd; He figh'd, he wept, he hung his head,

On the cold ground, full fad, he laid him; When Plutus, there by fortune led,

In this defponding plight survey'd him. And fure, he cry'd, you 'll own at last Your boafted power by mine exceeded:

Say, wretched boy, now all is past,

How little the your efforts heeded.

If with fuccefs you would affail,

Gild, Youngfter, doubly gild your arrows: Little the feather'd shafts avail,

Though wing'd from Mamma's doves and spar


What though each reed, each arrow grew, Where Venus bath'd herself; depend on 't, 'Twere more for ufe, for beauty too,

A diamond sparkled at the end on 't. Peace, Plutus, peace!-the boy reply'd; Were not my arts by your's infefted,

I could each other power deride,

And rule this circle, unmolested.


See yonder pair! no worldly views

In Chloe's generous breaft refided : Love bade her the fpruce valet chufe,

And the by potent love was guided. For this fhe quits her golden dreams,

In her gilt coach no more the ranges: And her rich crimson, bright with gems,

For cheeks impearl'd with tears, the changes.
Though fordid Celia own'd your power,
Think not fo monftrous my difgrace is4

You gain'd this nymph-that very hour
I gain'd a fcore in different places.

EPILOGUE to the Tragedy of CLEONE:

WELL, ladies-fo much for the tragic ftile

And now the cuftom is to make you smile.

To make us fmile methinks I hear you fay-
Why, who can help it, at fo ftrange a play?
The Captain gone three years !-and then to blame
The faultlefs conduct of his virtuous dame!
My ftars-what gentle belle would think it treason,
When thus provok'd, to give the brute fome reafon ?
Out of my houfe!-this night, forfooth depart!
A modern wife had faid" With all my heart
But think not, haughty Sir, I'll go alone!
Order your coach-conduct me fafe to town---
Give me my jewels, wardrobe, and my maid-
And pray take care my pin-money be paid."

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Such is the language of each modish fair; Yet memoirs, not of modern growth, declare The time has been when modefty and truth Were deem'd additions to the charms of youth : When women hid their necks, and vcil'd their faces, Nor romp'd, nor rak'd, nor star'd at public places, Nor took the airs of Amazons for graces: Then plain domestic virtues were the mode, And wives ne'er dreamt of happiness abroad They lov'd their children, learnt no flaunting airs, But with the joys of wedlock mixt the cares. Those times are past-yet fure they merit praife, For marriage triumph'd in thofe golden days : By chafte decorum they affection gain'd; By faith and fondnefs what they won, maintain'd.

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'Tis yours, ye fair, to bring those days again,
And form anew the hearts of thoughtlefs men;
Make beauty's luftre amiable as bright,
And give the foul, as well as fenfe, delight;
Reclaim from folly a fantastic age,

That fcorns the prefs, the pulpit, and the stage.
Let truth and tenderness your breafts adorn,
The marriage chain with transport shall be worn;
Each blooming virgin rais'd into a bride
Shall double all their joys, their cares divide;
Alleviate grief, compofe the jars of strife,
And pour the balm that sweetens human life.




WHILE blooming fpring defcends from genial skies,

By whofe mild influence inftant wonders rife ;

From whofe foft breath Elyfian beauties flow;
The sweets of Hagley, or the pride of Stowe;
Will Lyttelton the rural landskip range,
Leave noify fame, and not regret the change?
Pleas'd will he tread the garden's early fcenes,
And learn a moral from the rifing greens?
There, warm'd alike by Sol's enlivening power,
The weed, afpiring, emulates the flower:
The drooping flower, its fairer charms difplay'd,
Invites, from grateful hands, their generous aid:
Soon, if none check th' invafive foe's defigns,
The lively luftre of thefe fcenes declines !

'Tis thus, the fpring of youth, the morn of life,
Rears in our minds the rival feeds of ftrife.
Then paffion riots, reafon then contends;
And, on the conqueft, every blifs depends:
Life, from the nice decision, takes its hue :
And bleft thofe judges who decide like you!
On worth like theirs fhall every bliss attend :

The world their favourite, and the world their friend.

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There are, who, blind to thought's fatiguing ray,
As fortune gives examples, urge their way:
Nor virtue's foes, though they her paths decline,
And scarce her friends, though with her friends they join,
In her's, or vice's cafual road advance

Thoughtless, the finners or the faints of chance!
Yet fome more nobly scorn the vulgar voice;
With judgment fix, with zeal purfue their choice,
When ripen'd thought, when reafon born to reign,
Checks the wild tumults of the youthful vein;
While paffion's lawless tides, at their command,
Glide through more useful tracts, and bless the land.
Happiest of thefe is he whofe matchlefs mind,
By learning strengthen'd, and by tafte refin'd,
In virtue's cause essay'd its earliest powers;
Chofe virtue's paths, and strew'd her paths with flowers.
The first alarm'd, if freedom waves her wings:
The fitteft to adorn each art fhe brings :
Lov'd by that prince whom every virtue fires :

Prais'd by that bard whom every Mufe inspires:
Bleft in the tuneful art, the focial flame;
In all that wins, in all that merits fame!

'Twas youth's perplexing stage his doubts infpir'd, When great Alcides to a grove retir’d.

Through the lone windings of a devious glade, Refign'd to thought, with lingering steps he ftray'd; Bleft with a mind to tafte fincerer joys:

Arm'd with a heart each falfe one to despise,

Dubious he stray'd, with wavering thoughts poffeft, Alternate paffions ftruggling fhar'd his breaft;



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