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Why, Doris, doft thou curfe Sabina's eyes?
To her Myrtilla is a vulgar prize.
Yet fay, I lov'd; how loud would cenfure rail!
So foon to quit the duties of the veil !
No, fooner Plays and Operas I'd forswear,
And change these China jars for Tunbridge ware;
Or trust my mother as a confidant,
Or fix a friendship with my maiden-aunt ;
Than till-to-morrow throw my weeds away.
Yet let me fee him, if he comes to-day !
BETWEEN TWO OF THE PEOPLE CALLED QUAKERS.
the fhadow of a beaver hat,
Meek Caleb at a filent-meeting fat; His eye-balls oft' forgot the holy trance, While Tabitha demure return'd the glance. The meeting ended, Caleb filence broke, And Tabitha her inward yearnings spoke.
Beloved, fee how all things follow love;
Lamb fondleth lamb, and dove disports with dove ;
Yet fondled lambs their innocence secure,
And none can call the turtle's bill impure.
O faireft of our fifters, let me be
The billing dove and fondling lamb to thee.
But, Caleb, know that birds of gentle mind
Elect a mate among the fober kind;
Not the mockaws, all deck'd in fcarlet pride,
Entice their mild and modeft hearts afide :
But thou, vain man! beguil'd by Popith fhows,
Doateft on ribbands, flounces, furbelows.
If thy false heart be fond of tawdry dyes,
Go, wed the painted arch in fummer-skies;
Such love will like the rainbow's hue decay,
Strong at the first, but paffeth foon away.
Name not the frailties of my youthful days,
When vice mif-led me through the harlot's ways;
When I with wanton look the fex beheld,
And Nature with each wanton look rebell'd;
Then party-colour'd pride my heart might move
With lace, the net to catch unhallow'd love.
All fuch-like love is fading as the flower,
Springs in a day, and withereth in an hour:
But now I feel the spoufal love within,
And fpoufal love no fifter holds a fin.
I know thou longest for the flaunting maid,
Thy falfehood own, and fay I am betray'd;
The tongue of man is blifter'd o'er with lies,
But truth is ever read in woman's eyes.
O that my lip obey'd a tongue like thine!
Or that thine eye bewray'd a love like mine!
How bitter are thy words! forbear to teaze,
I too might blame-but love delights to please,
Why should I tell thee, that, when laft the fun
Painted the downy peach of Newington,
Jofiah led thee through the garden's walk,
And mingled melting kiffes with his talk ?
Ah, Jealoufy! turn, turn thine eyes afide:
How can I fee that watch adorn thy fide?
For verily no gift the fifters take
For luft of gain, but for the giver's fake.
I own, Jofiah gave the golden toy,
Which did the righteous hand of Quare employ ;
When Caleb hath affign'd fome happy day,
I look on this, and chide the hours delay :
And, when Jofiah would his love pursue,
On this I look, and fhun his wanton view.
Man but in vain with trinkets tries to move;
The only prefent love demands is love.
Ah, Tabitha, to hear these words of thine,
My pulfe beats high, as if inflam'd with wine!
When to the brethren firft with fervent zeal
The fpirit mov'd the yearnings to reveal,
How did I joy thy trembling lip to fee
Red as the cherry from the Kentish tree!
When extafy had warm'd thy look fo meek,
Gardens of rofes blushed on thy cheek!
With what fweet tranfport didst thou roll thine eyes!
How did thy words provoke the brethren's fighs!
Words that with holy fighs might others move,
But, Tabitha, my fighs were fighs of love.
Is Tabitha beyond her wishes bleft?
Does no proud worldly dame divide thy breast?
Then hear me, Caleb, witness what I speak,
This folemn promife death alone can break :
Sooner I would bedeck my brow with lace,
And with immodeft favourites fhade my face,
Sooner like Babylon's lewd whore be drest
In flaring diamonds and a fcarlet vest,
Or make a curtfie in Cathedral pew,
Than prove inconftant, while my Caleb's true.
When I prove falfe, and Tabitha forfake,
Teachers fhall dance a jig at country-wake;
Brethren unbeaver'd then fhall bow their head,
And with prophane mince pies our babes be fed.
If that Jofiah were with paflion fir'd,
Warm as the zeal of youth when first inspir'd;
In steady love though he might perfevere,
Unchanging as the decent garb we wear,
And thou wert fickle as the wind that blows,
Light as the feather on the head of beaux;
Yet I for thee would all thy fex refign:
Sifters, take all the reft-be Caleb mine.
Though I had all that finful love affords,
And all the concubines of all the lords,
Whofe couches creak with whoredom's finful fhame,
Whofe velvet chairs are with adultery lame;
Ev'n in the harlot's hall, I would not fip
The dew of lewdnefs from her lying lip;