W

HEN flow'ry meadows deck the year,

And sporting lambkins play,

When fpangled fields renew'd appear,

And mufick wak'd the day;

Then did my Cloe leave her bower,
To hear my amorous lay;

Warm'd by my love, fhe vow'd no power
Shou'd lead her heart aftray.

The warbling quires, from every bough,
Surround our couch in throngs;

And all their tuneful arts bestow,
To give us change of fongs;
Scenes of delight my foul poffefs'd;
I blefs'd, then hugg'd my maid;
I robb'd the kiffes from her breast,
Sweet as a noon-day's flade.

Joy fo transporting never fails
To fly away as air;

Another swain with her prevails,

To be as false as fair,

What can my fatal paffion cure?

I'll never woo again:

All her difdain I muft endure,

Adoring her in vain.

WHAT pity 'tis to hear the boy
Thus fighing with his pain;

But time and scorn may give him joy
To hear her figh again.

Ah! fickle Cloe, be advis'd,
Do not thy felf beguile;

A faithful lover fhou'd be priz'd;
Then cure him with a smile.

M

USICK's the cordial of a troubled breaft, The fofteft remedy that grief can find; The gentle spell that charms our cares to rest, And calms the ruffling paffions of the mind.

Mufick does all our joys refine,

"Tis that gives relish to our wine,

"Tis that gives rapture to our love;

It wings devotion to a pitch divine,

"Tis our chief blifs on earth, and half our heaven

I

F mighty wealth, that gives the rules
To vicious men and cheating fools,
Cou'd but preferve me in the prime
Of blooming youth, and purchase time,
I wou'd covet riches too,

And scrape, and cheat as others do;
Then when the minister of fate,
Pale death, was knocking at the gate,
I'd fend him loaded back with coin;
A bribe of richer duft than mine.

But fince that life must flide away,
And wealth can't purchase one poor day;
Why fhou'd my cares increase my pain,
And waste my time with fighs in vain?
Since riches cannot life fupply,
It is a useless poverty.

Swift time, that can't be brought to stay,
I'll try to guide the gentlest way;
With chearful friends brisk wine fhall pafs,
And drown a care in every glass:
Sometimes diverted with love's charms;
The circle made by Celia's arms.

A Dia

W.

A Dialogue between a Man and bis Wife.

T

o me you made a thousand vows,
A thousand tender things you've faid;
I gave you all that love allows,

The pleasures of the nuptial bed:
But, now my eyes have loft their charms,
Or you abate in your defire;

You with another in your arms,
And burn with an unhallow'd fire.

H. That charming Celia I admire,

I must with pleasure own, is true;
But had I ten times the defire,

How wou'd the paffion injure you?

W. Love is a facred tree of life,

That up to heaven its branches rears;
Yet admirations's but the leaf,

Enjoyment is the fruit it bears.

H. Thus, while you raise this vain difpute,
Your paffion but itself deceives;

While you yourself have all the fruit,
What need you envy me the leaves?

Both..

Both. Away then all fondness, I find 'tis in vain

For wives, when neglected, to figh and complain;
We raise the loose wishes we strive to restrain.
"Tis a folly to whine, to languish and grieve,
Let us rather endeavour ourselves to deceive;
What we wish to be true, love bids us believe.
Time, reason, or change at last will relieve;
"Tis a folly to whine, to languish and grieve.

W

HILST, Galatea, you defign

To gain a conqueft o'er all hearts>
Take heed left you your own refign;
Love plays not idly with his darts.

Be careful how you fan his fire;
And while you strive to gain defire,
You do not fall into that fnare,
Which for your lovers you prepare,

J3

The