Fain would my Mufe to Stowell bend her Sight,

But turns aftonisht from the dazling Light, Nor dares attempt to climb the steepy Flight.

O Kneller! Like thy Pictures were my Song, Clear like thy Paint, and like thy Pencil strong; These matchless Beauties fhould Recorded be, In Verfe Immortal, as thy * Gallery.

*The Gallery of Beauties, Drawn by Sir Godfrey Kneller.

In Imitation of the 23d. of ANACREON.

On GOLD, to a MISE

C

Ou'd heaps of Wealth prolong our

And stretch our Days beyond their D

Were Life as well as Pardons Sold,

And Death like Hell, Brib'd off with Gold.
Then I would Scrape and Save, and be,
At least, as Covetous as Thee.

Then if the Messenger fhou'd come,

That brings to all the fatal Doom;

I'd fcorn to give him these Remains

Of Time, worn out with Age and Pains :

I'd ufe him kindlier than fo,

And pay in Gold the Debt I owe.

But fince We Mortals vainly try

To purchase Immortality,

It is as vain to Sigh and Grieve,

And fearing Death, neglect to Live.
If the Minutes will not stay,'

With pleasure they shall pass away;
In Streams of Wine shall smoothly glide,
Wafted down the purple Tide:
Or let 'em ftill more gently move,
Born on the even wings of Love.
Ufelefs Gold, Why fhou'd we fave?
We are the Tribute of the Grave.
Come give me Wine, 'tis brighter far,
Than thy Gold or Jewels are:

Look in the Glass and fee it Rife;
It fparkles like Lucinda's Eyes;
Like her can Charm, like her Infpire

The Soul with Mirth and gay defire.

Our Friends are come, the Bowls are crown'd, Let's Drink and let her Health go round.

Let's

Let's Drink, and let's our Time improve,

The Day with Wine, the Night with Love,

Of Life we all fhou'd Mifers be,
And none shou'd truft Futurity.

The Golden Hours that now are gone,
We have enjoy'd and made our own:
If longer time the gods will give,
We furely fhall the Gift receive,
We that beft know how to Live.

ΤΟ

ΤΟ

LESBIA.

Quæris quot mihi bafiationes
Tua, Lesbia, fint fatis Juperque.

W

Catullus.

Ouldst thou, my deareft Lesbia, know,
When round thy Neck my Arms I

s throw;

When to thy Lips, my Lips I join,
And prefs thy rifing Breafts to mine;
When my quick Spirits briskly move,
Infpir'd with joy, infpir'd with Love;
How many Kiffes I'd receive,
How many thousand Kiffes give?
Tell firft how many drops there be
In the vaft Ocean's boundless Sea :
Then add to these th' unnumber'd Store
Of Grains that crowd his Sandy Shore:

Count