A mind for love, but still a changing mind;
The lifp affected, and the glance design'd ;
The fweet confufing blufh, the fecret wink,
The gentle-fwimming walk, the courteous fink,
The ftare for ftrangeness fit, for fcorn the frown,
For decent yielding looks declining down,
The practis'd languish, where well-feign'd defire
Wou'd own its melting in a mutual fire;
Cay fmiles to comfort; April fhow'rs to move;
And all the nature, all the art, of love.

Gold-fcepter'd Juno next exalts the fair
Her touch endows her with imperious air,
Self-valuing fancy, highly-crested pride,
Strong fov'reign will, and fome defire to chide:
For which an eloquence, that aims to vex,
With native tropes of anger, arms the fex

Minerva (fkilful goddefs) train'd the maid
To twirl the fpindle by the twifting thread,
To fix the foom, inftru&t the reeds to part,
Crofs the long weft, and clofe the web with art,
An ufeful gift; but what profufe expence ;
What world of fashions, took their rife from hence!

Young Hermes next, a clofe-contriving god,
Her brows encircled with his ferpent rod :
Then plots and fair excufes fill'd her brain,
The views of breaking am'rous vows for gain,
The price of favours; the defigning arts
That aim at riches in contempt of hearts;
And for a comfort in the marriage life,
The little, pilf'ring temper of a wife.

Full on the fair his beams Apollo flung,
And fund perfuafion tipp'd her eafy tongue;
He gave her words, where oily flatt'ry lays
The pleasing colours of the art of praife;
And wit, to fcandal exquisitely prone,
Which frets another's ipleen to cure its own.

Thofe facred Virgins whom the bards revere,
Tun'd all her voice, and thed a fweetaefs there,
To make her fenfe with double charms abound,
Or make her lively nonfenfe please by found.

To drefs the maid, the decent Graces brought
A robe in all the dies of beauty wrought,
And plac'd their boxes o'er a rich brocade
Where pictur'd loves on ev'ry cover play'd;
Then fpread thofe implements that Vulcan's art
Had frain'd to merit Cytherea's heart;
The wire to curl, the close indented comb
To call the locks, that fightly wander, home;
And chief, the mirrour, where the ravifh'd maid
Beholds and loves her own reflected shade.

Fair Flora lent her ftores, the purpled Hours
Confin'd her.treffes with a wreath of flow'rs;
Within the wreath arofe a radiant crown;
A veil pellucid hung depending down ;
Back roll'd her azure veil with ferpent fold,
The purfled border deck'd the floor with gold.
Her robe (which clofely by the girdle brac'd
Reveal'd the beauties of a flender waite)
Flow'd to the feet; to copy Venus air,
When Venus' ftatues have a robe to wear.
The new fprung creature, finish'd thus
harms,

Adjusts her habit, practifes her charms,
With blushes glows, or fhines with lively fmiles,
Confirms her will, or recollects her wiles;

Then confcious of her worth, with eafy pace
Glides by the glafs, and turning views her face.

A finer fax than what they wrought before,
Thro' time's deep cave, the fifter Fates explore,
Then fix the loom, their fingers nimbly weave,
And thus their toil prophetic fongs deceive.

Flow from the rock, my flax! and swiftly flow, Purfue thy thread; the fpindle runs below. A creature fond and changing, fair and vain, The creature woman, rifes now to reign. New beauty blooms, a beauty form'd to fly; New love begins, a love produc'd to dye; New parts difrefs the troubled fcenes of life, The fondling ift refs, and the ruling wife.

Men, born to labour, all with pains provide ;
Women have time, to facrifice to pride:
They want the care of man, their want they know,
And drefs to pleafe with heart-alluring show,
The how prevailing, for the fway contend,
And make a fervant where they meet a friend.
Thus in a thoufand wax-erected forts,

A loitering race the painful bee fupports,
From fun to fun, from bank to bank he flies,
With honey loads his bag, with wax his thighs 3
Fly where he will, at home the race remain,
Prune the filk drefs, and murm'ring eat the gain,

Yet here and there we grant a gentle bride,
Whose temper betters by the father's fide;
Unlike the reft that double human care,
Ford to relieve, or refolute to share:
Happy the man whom thus his ftars advance!
The curfe is gea'ral, but the bleffing chance.

Thus fung the fiflers, while the gods admire
Their beauteous creature, made for man in ire;
The young Pandora fhe, whom all contend
To make too perfect not to gain her end:
Then bid the winds that fly to breathe the fpring,
Return to bear her on a gentle wing;
With wafting airs the winds obfequious blow,
And land the thining vengeance fafe below.
A golden coffer in her hand fhe bore,
(The prefent treach'rous, but the bearer more)
'Twas fraught with pangs; for Jove ordain'd above,
That gold fhou'd aid, and pangs attend on love.
Her gay defcent the man perceiv'd afar,
Wond'ring he run to catch the falling far;
But fo furpris'd, as none but he can tell,
Who lov'd fo quickly, and who lov'd so well.
O'er all his veins the wand'ring paflion burns,
He calls her nymph, and ev'ry nymph by turns.
Her form to lovely Venus he prefers,
Or fwears that Venus's must be fuch as hers.
She, proud to rule, yet ftrangely fram'd to teize,
Negicas his offers while her airs the plays,
Shoots fcornful glances from the bended frown,
In brifk diforder trips it up and down,

Then hums a careleis tune to lay the ftorm, And fits, and blushes, smiles, and yields in form. "Now take what Jove defign'd (the foftly

cry'd)

The winds were filent, all the wives afleep,
And heav'n was trac'd upon the flatt'ring deep;
But whilft he looks unmindful of a storm,
And thinks the water wears a ftable form,
What dreadful din around his ears fhall rife!
What frowns confufe his picture of the fkies!
At first the creature man was fram'd alone,
Lord of himself, and all the world his own.
For him the nymphs in green forfook the woods,
For him the nymphs in blue forook the floods,
In vain the fatyrs rage, the tritons rave,
They bore him heroes in the fecret cave.
No care deftroy'd, no fick diforder prey'd,
No bending age his fprightly form decay'd,
No wars were known, no females heard to rage,
And poets tell us, 'twas a golden age.

When woman came, thofe ills the box confin'd
Burft furious out, and poifon' all the wind,
From point to point, from pole to pole they flew,
Spread as they went, and in the progress grew:
The nymphs regretting left the mortal race,
And alt'ring nature wore a fickly face:
New terms of folly rofe, new fates of care;
New plagues to fuffer, and to please the fair
The days of whining, and of wild intrigues,
Commenc'd, or finish'd with the breach of leagues ;
The mean defigns of well diffembled love.
The fordid matches never join'd above;
Abroad the labour, and at home the noife,
(Man's double fuff'rings for domestic joys)
The curfe of jealoufy; expence, and strife;
Divorce, the public brand, of shameful life;
The rival's fword; the qualm that takes the fair;
Difdain for paffion, paffion in defpair-
Thefe and a thoufand, yet unnam'd we find;
Ah fear the thoufand, yet unnam'd behind!

Thus on Parnaffus tuneful Hefiod fung,
The mountain echo'd, and the valley rung,
The facred groves a fix'd attention show,
The cryftal Helicon forbore to flow,

The fky grew bright, and (if his verfe be true)
The mufes came to give the laurel too.
But what avail'd the verdant prize of wit,
If love fwore vengrance for the tales he writ?
Yet fair offended, hear your friend relate
What heavy judgment prov'd the writer's fate,
Tho' when it happen'd, no relation clears,
"Tis thought in five, or five and twenty years.
Where, dark and filent, with a twisted fhade
The neighb'ring woods a native arbour made,
There oft a tender pair for am'rous play
Retiring, toy'd the ravish'd hours away;
A Locrian youth, the gentle Troilus he,
A fair Miletian, kind Evanthe Che:
But fwelling nature in a fatal hour
Betray'd the fecrets of the confcious bow'r;
The dire difgrace her brothers count their own,
And track her feps, to make its author known.

It chanc'd one evening, ('twas the lover's day)
Conceal'd in brakes the jealous kindred lay ;
When Hefiod wand'ring mus'd along the plain,
And fix'd his feat where love had fix'd the fcene:
A strong fufpicion ftraight poffefs'd their mind,
(For poets ever were a gentle kind.)
But when Evanthe near the paffage ftood,
Flung back a doubtful look and shot the wood,

Now take, (at once they cry) thy due reward," And urg'd with erring rage, affault the bard. His corps the fea receiv'd. The dolphins bore ('Twas all the gods would do) the corps to shore. Methinks I view the dead with pitying eyes, And fee the dreams of antient wildom rife; I fee the Mufes round the body cry, But hear a Cupid loudly laughing by; He whee's his arrow with infulting hand, And thus infcribes the moral on the fand, "Here Hedod lies: ye future bards, beware "How far your moral tales incenfe the fair: "Unlov'd, unloving, 'twas his fate to bleed; "Without his quiver Cupid caus'd the deed: "He judg'd this turn of malice, justly due, And Heflod dy'd for joys he never knew."

THYRSIS, a young and am'rous fwain,
Saw two, the beauties of the plain,
Who both his heart fubdue:

Gay Cælia's eyes were dazzling fair,
Sabina's cafy fhape and air

With fofter magick drew.

He haunts the stream, he haunts the grove, Lives in a fond romance of love,

And feems for each to dye; "Till each a little fpiteful grown, Sabina Calia's Shape ran drown,

And the Sabina's eye.
Their envy made the fhepherd find
Thofe eyes, which love cou'd only blind,
So let the lover free;

No more he haunts the grove or ftream,
Or with a true-love-knot and name
Engraves a wounded tree.

Ah Cælia! (fly Sabina cry'd)
Tho' neither love, we're both deny'd;
Now to support the fex's pride,

Let either fix the dart,

Poor girl (fays Cælia) fay no more;
For fhou'd the fwain but one adore,
That fpite which broke his chains before,
Wou'd break the other's heart.

SON G.

MY days have been so wond'rous free,
The little birds that fly

With careless ease from tree to tree,
Were but as bleft as I.
Afk gliding waters, if a tear

Of mine increas'd their ftream I
Or afk the flying gales, if e'er
I lent one figh to them?
But now my former days retire,

And I'm by beauty caught,
The tender chains of fweet defire
Are fix'd upon my thought.
Ye nightingales, ye twifting pines!
Ye fwains that haunt the grove!
Ye gentle echoes, breezy winds !
Ye clofe retreats of love!,
With all of nature, all of art,
Affift the dear defign;

O teach a young, unpractis'd heart,
To make my Nancy mine.
The very thought of change I hate
As much as of despair;
Nor ever covet to be great,

Unless it be for her.

Tis true, the paffion in my mind
Is mix'd with foft diftrefs;
Yet while the fair 1 love is kind,
I cannot with it lefs.

Wanton fmiles, and airy play,
Confpir'd to make the scene be gay;
Love pair'd the birds through all the groves
And Nature bid them fing to Love,
Sitting, hopping, flutt'ring, fing,
And pay their tribute from the wing,
To fledge the fhafts that idly lye,
And yet unfeather'd wait to fly.

"Tis thus, when spring renews the blood,
They meet in ev'ry trembling wood,
And thrice they make the plumes agree,
And ev'ry dart they mount with three,
And ev'ry dart can boast a kind,
Which fuits each proper turn of mind.

From the tow'ring Eagle's plume
The gen'rous hearts accept their doom;
Shot by the peacock's painted eye
The vain and airy lovers dye :
For careful dames and frugal men,
The fhafts are fpeckled by the hen.
The pyes and parrots deck the darts,
When prattling wins the painting hearts
When from the voice the paffions fpring,
The warbling finch affords a wing:
Together, by the sparrow stung,
Down fall the wanton and the young:
And fledg'd by geefe the weapons fly,
When others love they know not why.

All this (as late I chanc'd to rove)
I learn'd in yonder waving grove.
And fee, fays Love, (who call'd me near)
How much I deal with Nature here,
How both fupport a proper part,
She gives the feather, I the dart :
Then ceafe for fouls averfe to figh,
If Nature crofs ye, fo do I ;
My weapon there unfeather'd flies,
And shakes and fhuffles through the skies.
But if the mutual charms I find

By which the links you mind to mind,
They wing my fhafts, I poize the darts,

And ftrike from both, through both your hearts.

ANACREONTICK.

WHEN fpring came on with fresh delight, To cheer the foul, and charm the fight,

While eafy breezes, fofter rain, And warmer funs falute the plain ; 'Twas in yonder piny grove,

That Nature went to meet with Love.

Green was her robe, and green her wreath,
Where e'er the trod, 'twas green beneath;
Where e'er the turn'd, the pulfes beat
With new recruits of genial heat;
And in her train the birds appear,
To match for all the coming year.

Rais'd on a bank, where daifies grewa
And vi'lets intermix'd a blue,
She finds the boy she went to find;
A thousand pleasures wait behind,
Afide, a thoufand arrows lye,
But all unfeather'd wait to fly.
When they met, the dame and boy,
Dancing graces, idle joy,

They call'd and drank at every touch;

He fill'd, and drank again;

And if the Gods can take too much,

'Tis faid, they did fo then.

Gay Bacchus little Cupid ftung,
By reck'ning his deceits;

And Cupid mock'd his ftammering tongue,
With all his ftagg'ring gaits:

And Jocus droll'd on Comus' ways,
And tales without a jeft ;

While Comus call'd his witty plays

But waggeries at best.

Such talk foon fet them all at odds;

And, had I Homer's pen,

I'd fing ye, how they drunk like Godsą
And how they fought like men.
To part the fray, the graces Яy,

Who make them foon agree;
Nay had the furies felves been nigh,
They still were three to three.
Bacchus appeas'd, rais'd Cupid up,
And gave him back his bow;
But kept some darts to stir the cup,
Where fack and fugar flow.
Jocus took Comus' rofy crown,

And gayly wore the prize,

And thrice, in mirth, he push'd him down,
As thrice, he ftrove to rife.

Then Cupid fought the myrtle grove,
Where Venus did recline;

And Venus close embracing Love,
They join'd to rail at wine.
And Comus loudly curfing wit,
Roll'd off to fome retreat,
Where boon companions gravely fit
In fat unwieldy state.
Bacchus and Jocus, ftill behind,

For one fresh glafs prepare;
They kifs, and are exceeding kind,
And vow to be fincere.

But part in time, whoever hear
This our inftructive song ;
For though fuch friendships may be dear
They can't continue long.

A FAIRY TALE;

In the ancient English Style.

IN Britain's ifle and Arthur's days,
When midnight fairies daunc'd the maze,
Liv'd Edwin of the green;
Edwin, I wis, a gentle youth,
Endow'd with courage, fenfe and truth,
Tho' badly fhap'd he been.

His mountain back mote well be faid
To measure heighth against his head,
And lift itself above;

Yet fpite of all that nature did
To make has uncouth form forbid,
This creature dar'd to love.

He felt the charms of Edith's eyes,
Nor wanted hope to gain the prize,
Cou'd ladies look within ;

But one Sir Topaz dress'd with art,
And, if a shape could win a heart,
He had a shape to win.

Edwin (if right I read my fong)
With fighted paffion pac'd along
All in the moony light:
'Twas near an old enchanted court,
Where fportive fairies made refort
To revel out the night.

His heart was drear, his hope was cross'd,
'Twas late, 'twas far, the path was lost

That reach'd the neighbour-town; With weary fteps he quits the fhades, Refolv'd the fparkling dome the treads, And drops his limbs adown.

But fcant he lays him on the floor,
When hollow winds remove the door,
A trembling rocks the ground:
And (well 1 ween to count aright)
At once an hundred tapers light
On all the walls around.

Now founding tongues affail his ear,
Now founding feet approachen near,
And now the founds encrease:
And from the corner where he lay
He fees a train profufely gay

Come prankling o'er the place;
But (trust me gentles!) never yet
Was dight a mafquing half so neat,
Or half fo rich before:
The country lent the sweet perfumes,
The fea the pearl, the fky the plumes,
The town its filken ftore.

Now whilst he gaz'd, a gallant dreft
In flaunting robes above the reft,
With awful accent cry'd ;
What mortal of a wretched mind,
Whofe fight infect the balmy wind,
Has here prefum'd to hide ?
At this the fwain, whofe vent'rous foul
No fears of magick art controul,

Advanc'd in open fight; "Nor have I cause of dread, he said, "Who view, by no prefumption led, "Your revels of the night. "Twas grief, for fcorn of faithful love, "Which made my steps unweeting rove, "Amid the nightly dew." 'Tis well, the gallant crye again, We fairies never injure men Who dare to tell us true. Exalt thy love-dejected heart, Be mine the tafk, or e'er we part, To make thee grief refign; Now take the pleasure of thy chaunce, Whilft I with Mab my partner daunce, Be little Mable thine.

He fpoke, and all a fudden there
Light mufic floats in wanton air :

The monarch leads the queen:
The reft their fairie part'ners found;
And Mable trimly tript the ground

With Edwin of the green.

The dauncing paff, the board was laid,
And fiker fuch a feaft was made

As heart and lip defire,
Withouten hands the dishes fly,
The glaffes with a wish come nigh,
And with a wifh retire.

But now to pleafe the fairie king,
Full ev'ry deal they laugh and fing,

And antick feats devife;

Some wind and tumble like an ape,
And other-fome tranfmute their shape
In Edwin's wond'ring eyes.

"Till one at laft that Robin hight,
(Renown'd for pinching maids by night)
Has hent him up aloof;

And full against the beam he flung
Where by the back the youth he hung
To fprawl unneath the roof.

From thence," reverfe my charm, he crys, "And let it fairly now fuffice

"The gambol has been shown."

But Oberon anfwers with a fmile,
Content thee Edwin for a while,

The vantage is thine own.

Here ended all the phantome-play;
They fmelt the fresh approach of day,
And heard a cock to crow;
The whirling wind that bore the crowd
Has clapp'd the door, and whiftled loud,
To warn them all to go.

Then fcreaming all at once they fly,
And all at once the tapers dye;

Poor Edwin falls to floor;
Forlorn his ftate, and dark the place,
Was ever wight in fike a cafe

Through all the land before.

But foon as Dan Apollo rofe,
Full jolly creature home he goes,
He feels his back the lefs;
His honeft tongue and fteady mind
Had rid him of the lump behind,

Which made him want fuccefs.

With lufty livelyhed he talks,
He feems a dancing as he walks,
His flory foon took wind;
And beautebus Edith fees the youth
Endow'd with courage, fenfe, and truth,.
Without a bunch behind.

The ftory told, Sir Topax mov'd,
(The youth of Edith erft approv'd)
To fee the revel scene:
At clofe of eve he leaves his home,
And wends to find the ruin'd dome
All on the gloomy plain

As there he hides, it fo befell,»
The wind came ruftling down a dell,
A fhaking feiz'd the wall:
Up fpring the tapers as before,
The Fairies bragly foot the floor,

And mufick fills the hall.

But Certes forely funk with woe Sir Topaz fees the Elphin fhow, His fpirits in him dye : When Oberon crys, "a man is near, "A mortal paflion, cleeped fear, "Hangs flagging in the sky. With that Sir Topaz (haplefs youth!) In accents fault'ring ay for ruth Intreats them pity graunt; For als he been a mifter wight, Betray'd by wand'ring in the night, To tread the circled haunt; "Ah lofell vile, at once they roar ; And little fkill'd of Fairie lore,

"Thy caufe to come we know 2 Now has thy keftrell courage fell; And Fairies, fince a ly you tell,

"Are free to work thee woe."
Then Will, who bears the wifpy fire
To trail the fwains among the mire,
The caitive upward flung;
There like a tortoise in a fhop
He dangled from the chamber-top,
Where whilome Edwin hung.

The revel now proceed apace,
Deffly they frisk it o'er the place,

They fit, they drink, and eat;.
The time with frolick mirth beguile,
And poor Sir Topaz hangs the while
'Till all the rout retreat.

By this the ftars began to wink,
They skriek, they fly, the tapers fink,
And down y'drops the knight:
For never spell by Fairie laid
With strong enchantment bound a glade
Beyond the length of night.

Chill, dark, alone, adreed, he lay,
Till up the welkin rofe the day,

Then deem'd the dole was o'er :

But wot ye well his harder lot?
His feely back the bunch has got
Which Edwin loft before.

This tale a Sybil nurse ared; She foftly ftrok'd my youngling head, And when the tale was done, "Thus fome are born, my fon (the cries) "With bafe impediments to rife,

"And fome are born with none.

"But virtue can itself advance
To what the fav'rite fools of chance,
"By Fortune feem'd defign'd:
Virtue can gain the odds of fate,
"And from itself shake off the weight
Upon th' unworthy mind."