IVINE Cecilia, now grown old,

D'Muft yield to one of fresher mold.

Her ftrains brought angels down to hear,
And liften with a raviih'd ear:

But here's fuch harmony of fhape,
Might tempt them to another rape;
And make them leave their heav'n behind,
To wed the daughters of mankind.

There needs no angel from the skies,
A real goddess charms our eyes;
As Venus to Eneas prov'd,

So look'd, fo talk'd, fo fmil'd, fo mov'd.

When Purcel's melting notes the fings,
Applauding Cupids clap their wings,
Miftake her for their Cyprian dame,
Her infant too for one of them.

She graceful leads the dancing choir, As smooth as air, as quick as fire; Now rifing like the bounding roe,

Now finks as flakes of feather'd fnow.

In

In facred story may be read,

How dancing coft St. John his head;
We here expofe a nobler part,
For fure no head is worth a heart.

Ꭰ

The Wishing LoVER.

ELIA, when I e'er review

Dreams delightful more than true;

When my fancy me beguil❜d,
Then the lovely Delia smil❜d,
On my breast did willing lie,
Glances melting in her eye;
Warm'd with gentle fires within,
Love upon her cheeks did fhine;
Glowing, blufhing, like the morn,
Now they fade, and now return:
How delighted then am I,
Let me love thus, and thus die.
Oh! if love cou'd more allow,
Thus I'd wish thee willing now;
Thus to languish on my breast,
Of immortal love possest.

The

AT

The QUEEN of MAY.

To the Tune of Over the hills, and far away.

Ta May-pole down in Kent,

Now fpring with flow'ry sweets was come,
Nymphs with fwains to dancing went,

Each hop'd to bear the garland home;
When Winna came, they all gave way,
Youths with joy their homage pay,
Nymphs confefs her queen of May;
No one was ever yet fo gay.

As her skin, the lilly fair;

New-budding rose, her mouth imparts; New-ftrung Cupid's bow her hair;

Eyes, his keenest ebon darts.

When you do her temper view,
Young, but wife; admir'd, yet true;
Never charm'd with empty fhew;
Ne'er indifcreet, yet easy too.

All around your steps advance,
Now foot it in a fairy ring,
Nimbly trip, and as you dance,

Ever live, bright Winna! fing.
With boughs their hearts of oak beset,
Your brave fires their conq'rors met;
No crown, but her locks of jet,
Now does your free allegiance get.

CUPID

A

CUPID Miftaken.

s after noon, one fummer's day,
Venus stood bathing in a river;

Cupid, a fhooting, went that way,

New ftrung his bow, new fill'd his quiver.

With skill he chofe his fharpeft dart;
With all his might his bow he drew:
Swift to his beauteous parent's heart
The too well-guided arrow flew.

I faint! I die the goddess cry'd:

Oh cruel, cou'dft thou find none other

To wreak thy fpleen on? paricide!

Like Nero, thou haft flain thy mother.

Poor Cupid, fobbing, fcarce cou'd speak;
Indeed, mamma, I did not know ye:
Alas! how eafy my mistake?

I took you for your likeness, Cloe.

B

LOVE the Caufe of my Mourning.

y a murmuring ftream a fair fhepherdess lay, Be fo kind, O ye nymphs, I oft-times heard her fay, Tell Strephon, I die, if he paffes this way,

And that love is the cause of my mourning.

Falfe fhepherds, that tell me of beauty and charms, Ye deceive me; for Strephon's cold heart never warms; Yet bring me this Strephon, let me die in his arms; Oh! Strephon, the cause of my mourning.

But firft, faid fhe, let me go
Down to the fhades below,
Ere ye let Strephon know

That I have lov'd him fo;

Then on my pale cheek no blushes will show,
That love was the cause of my mourning.

Her eyes were scarce closed when Strephon came by, He thought she'd been fleeping, and foftly drew nigh; But, finding her breathlefs, Oh heav'ns! did he cry, Ah! Chloris, the cause of my mourning.

Restore me my Chloris, ye nymphs, use your art; They fighing reply'd, 'Twas yourself shot the dart, That wounded the tender young fhepherdess' heart, And kill'd the poor Chloris with mourning.

Ah!