To BELINDA.

N Church the Prayer-Book, and the Fan display'd,
And folemn Cury fies, how the wily Maid,

At Plays the leering Looks and wanton Airs,
And Nods and Smiles, are fondly meant for Snares.
Alas! vain Charmer, you no Lovers get;
There you feem Hypocrite, and here Coquet.

To FLAVIA.

TATURE, in Pity, has deny'd you Shape,

NA

Elfe how fhould Mortals Flavia's Chain escape? Your radiant Afpect, and your rofie Bloom,

Without this Form would bring a Gen'ral Doom;
At once our Ruin and Relief we fee,

At fight are Captives, and at fight are Free.

ON

O N

NICOLINI's leaving the Stage.

B

EGON, our Nation's Pleafure and Reproach!

Britain no more with idle Trills debauch;

Back to thy own unmanly Venice fail,
Where Luxury and loose Defires prevail;
There thy Emafculating Voice employ,
And raise the Triumphs of the wanton Boy.
Long, ah! too long the foft Enchantment reign'd,
Seduc'd the Wife, and ev'n the Brave enchain'd;
Hence with thy Curft deluding Song! away!
Shall British Freedom thus become thy Prey?
Freedom, which we fo dearly us'd to Prize,
We fcorn'd to yield it. But to British Eyes.

Affift ye, Gales; with expeditious Care
Waft this prepoft'rous Idol of the Fair;
Confent, ye Fair, and let the Trifler go,
Nor bribe with Wishes adverfe Winds to blow:
Nonfenfe grew pleafing by his Syren Arts,

And ftole from Shakespear's felf our eafie Hearts.

A

SIG H.·
G_H.

GE

ENTLE Air, thou Breath of Lovers,
Vapour from a fecret Fire,

Which by Thee it self discovers,

Ere yet daring to Aspire.

Softeft Note of whisper'd Anguish,

Harmony's refined Part,

Striking, while thou feem'ft to Languish,
Full upon the Liftner's Heart.

Safeft Meffenger of Passion,

Stealing thro' a Crowd of Spies; Who conftrain the outward Fashion, Close the Lips, and watch the Eyes.

Shapeless Sigh! we ne'er can fhow thee,
Fram'd but to affault the Ear:

Yet, ere to their Coft they know thee,

Every Nymph may read thee

Here,

The

The 30th Ode of Anacreon.

HE Mufes frolickfom and gay

THE

Caught Cupid as he fleeping lay,

With Myrtle Twigs his Hands they ty'd,
And laid him by Cleora's Side,

She ftroak'd his Cheeks, and often preft
The wanton Archer to her Breaft;
Then loos'd his Hands.. ---You're free, she said; -
Yet he refus'd to leave the Maid.

In vain his Mother hunts about,
Offers Rewards to find him out;
In vain would fet the Captive free,
He's pleas'd with fuch a Slavery.

Close by her Side he watching lies;
The Wretch who fees Cleora dies.

The

The Forty-Fifth ODE

O F

ANACREON.

WHEN

THEN Mars the Lemnian Darts furvey'd, Which Vulcan forg'd for Cupid's Bow; What foolish Toys are thefe, he faid,

How brittle and how flight they show?

Fit Play-things for a Child! When ftrait
The little God did one prepare;
Here try, faid he, if this wants Weight;
And gave it to the God of War.

He took the Dart, its Weight he try'd,
While Venus fmil'd to fee him caught;
Here take it back again, he cry'd,

'Tis much more weighty than I thought.

The little Archer, wanton grown

To find the God of War fhew Fear,
Keep it, faid he, and henceforth own
My Dart wounds deeper than your Spear.

Upon