A BETTER ANSWER.

EAR Cloe, how blubber'd is that pretty face;

Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurl'd:

Pr'ythee quit this caprice; and (as old Falstaff says) Let us e'en talk a little like folks of this world.

How canst thou presume, thou hast leave to destroy The beauties, which Venus but lent to thy keeping? Those looks were design'd to inspire love and joy: More ord'nary eyes may serve people for weeping.

To be vext at a trifle or two that I writ,

Your judgment at once, and my passion you wrong: You take that for fact, which will scarce be found

wit:

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Odds life! must one swear to the truth of a song?

What I speak, my fair Cloe, and what I write, shows
The difference there is betwixt nature and art:
I court others in verse; but I love thee in prose:
And they have my whimsies, but thou hast my
heart.

The god of us verse-men (you know, child) the sun,
How after his journeys he sets up his rest:
If at morning o'er earth 'tis his fancy to run;
At night he declines on his Thetis's breast.

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So when I am wearied with wandering all day,
To thee, my delight, in the evening I come :
No matter what beauties I saw in my way; *
They were but my visits, but thou art my home.

Then finish, dear Cloe, this pastoral war;

And let us, like Horace and Lydia, agree: For thou art a girl as much brighter than her, As he was a poet sublimer than me.

PALLAS AND VENUS.

AN EPIGRAM.

HE Trojan swain had judg'd the great dispute,

And beauty's power obtain'd the golden fruit;

When Venus, loose in all her naked charms, Met Jove's great daughter clad in shining arms. The wanton goddess view'd the warlike maid From head to foot, and tauntingly she said:

Yield, sister; rival, yield: naked, you see, I vanquish guess how potent I should be, If to the field I came in armour drest; Dreadful, like thine, my shield, and terrible my crest!

* My heart with her but, as guest-wise, sojourn'd; And now to Helen it is home return'd,

There to remain.

Midsummer Night's Dream, A. iii. S. 2.

The warrior goddess with disdain replied:
Thy folly, child, is equal to thy pride:
Let a brave enemy for once advise,
And Venus (if 'tis possible) be wise.
Thou to be strong must put off every dress;
Thy only armour is thy nakedness:

And more than once, (or thou art much belied)
By Mars himself that armour has been tried.

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ROM public noise and factious strife,
From all the busy ills of life,

Take me, my Celia, to thy breast,
And lull my wearied soul to rest.

and he

For ever, in this humble cell,
Let thee and I, my fair one, dwell;
None enter else, but Love
Shall bar the door, and keep the key.
To painted roofs, and shining spires
(Uneasy seats of high desires)
Let the unthinking many crowd,
That dare be covetous and proud:
In golden bondage let them wait,
And barter happiness for state.
But oh! my Celia, when thy swain
Desires to see a court again,

May Heaven around this destin'd head

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The choicest of its curses shed!
To sum up all the rage of Fate,
In the two things I dread and hate;
Mayst thou be false, and I be great!

Thus, on his Celia's panting breast,
Fond Celadon his soul express'd;
While with delight the lovely maid
Receiv'd the vows, she thus repaid:

Hope of my age, joy of my youth,
Blest miracle of love and truth!
All that could e'er be counted mine,
My love and life, long since are thine:
A real joy I never knew,

Till I believ'd thy passion true:
A real grief I ne'er can find,

Till thou prov'st perjur'd or unkind.
Contempt, and poverty, and care,
All we abhor, and all we fear,

Blest with thy presence, I can bear.
Through waters, and through flames I'll go,
Sufferer and solace of thy woe:

Trace me some yet unheard-of way,
That I thy ardour may repay;
And make my constant passion known,
By more than woman yet has done.
Had I a wish that did not bear
The stamp and image of my dear;
I'd pierce my heart through every vein,
And die to let it out again.

No; Venus shall my witness be,

(If Venus ever lov'd like me)

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30

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That for one hour I would not quit

My shepherd's arms, and this retreat,

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To be the Persian monarch's bride,
Partner of all his power and pride;
Or rule in regal state above,
Mother of gods, and wife of Jove.

O happy these of human race!
But soon, alas! our pleasures pass.
He thank'd her on his bended knee;
Then drank a quart of milk and tea :
And leaving her ador'd embrace,
Hasten'd to court, to beg a place.
While she, his absence to bemoan,
The very moment he was gone,

Call'd Thyrsis from beneath the bed!
Where all this time he had been hid.

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MORAL.

While men have these ambitious fancies;
And wanton wenches read romances;
Our sex will-What? out with it. Lie;
And theirs in equal strains reply.
The moral of the tale I sing

(A posy for a wedding ring)

In this short verse will be confin'd:
Love is a jest, and vows are wind.

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