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Nor its set way o'er stiles and bridges make,
Nor thorough lanes a compass take,
As if it fear'd some trespass to commit,

When the wide air's a road for it.
So the imperial eagle does not stay
Till the whole carcase he devour,
That's fallen into its power:

As if his generous hunger understood
That he can never want plenty of food,
He only sucks the tasteful blood;

And to fresh game flies cheerfully away;
To kites, and meaner birds, he leaves the mangled

prey.

ODE,

From Catullus.

ACME AND SEPTIMIUS.

WHILST on Septimius' panting breast (Meaning nothing less than rest)

Acme lean'd her loving head,

Thus the pleas'd Septimius said:

My dearest Acme, if I be
Once alive, and love not thee
With a passion far above
All that e'er was called love;
In a Libyan desert may
I become some lion's prey;
Let him, Acme, let him tear

My breast, when Acme is not there.

The God of Love, who stood to hear him
(The God of Love was always near him),
Pleas'd and tickled with the sound,
Sneez'd aloud; and all around
The little Loves, that waited by,
Bow'd, and blest the augury.
Acme, enflam'd with what he said,
Rear'd her gently-bending head;

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And, her purple mouth with joy
Stretching to the delicious boy,
Twice (and twice could scarce suffice)
She kiss'd his drunken rolling eyes.

My little life, my all! (said she)
So may we ever servants be

To this best God, and ne'er retain
Our hated liberty again!

So may thy passion last for me,
As I a passion have for thee,
Greater and fiercer much than can
Be conceiv'd by thee a man!
Into my marrow is it gone,
Fixt and settled in the bone;
It reigns not only in my heart,
But runs, like life, through every part.
She spoke; the God of Love aloud
Sneez'd again; and all the crowd
Of little Loves, that waited by,
Bow'd, and blest the augury.

This good omen thus from heaven

Like a happy signal given,

Their loves and lives (all four) embrace,

And hand in hand run all the race.
To poor Septimius (who did now
Nothing else but Acme grow)
Acme's bosom was alone

The whole world's imperial throne;
And to faithful Acme's mind
Septimius was all human-kind.

If the Gods would please to be
But advis'd for once by me,
I'd advise them, when they spy
Any illustrious piety,

To reward her, if it be she-
To reward him, if it be he-

With such a husband, such a wife;
With Acme's and Septimius' life.

THE CHRONICLE.

ARGARITA first possess❜d,

MA

If I remember well, my breast,
Margarita, first of all;

But when awhile the wanton maid
With my restless heart had play'd,
Martha took the flying ball.
Martha soon did it resign
To the beauteous Catharine.
Beauteous Catharine gave place
(Tho' loth and angry she to part
With the possession of my heart)
To Eliza's conquering face.

Eliza to this hour might reign,
Had she not evil counsels ta'en:
Fundamental laws she broke,
And still new favourites she chose,
Till up in arms my passions rose,
And cast away her yoke.

Mary then, and gentle Ann,
Both to reign at once began,

Alternately they sway'd;

And sometimes Mary was the fair,

And sometimes Ann the crown did wear,
And sometimes both I obey'd.

Another Mary then arose,
And did rigorous laws impose;
A mighty tyrant she!

Long, alas, should I have been,
Under that iron-scepter'd queen,
Had not Rebecca set me free.

When fair Rebecca set me free,
'Twas then a golden time for me,

But soon those pleasures fled:
For the gracious princess died,
In her youth and beauty's pride,

And Judith reigned in her stead.

One month, three days, and half an hour,
Judith held the sov'reign pow'r,
Wondrous beautiful her face;
But so weak and small her wit,
That she to govern was unfit,
And so Susannah took her place.

But when Isabella came,
Arm'd with a resistless flame,

And th' artillery of her eye;
While she proudly march'd about
Greater conquests to find out,

She beat out Susan by the bye.

But in her place I then obey'd
Black-ey'd Bess, her viceroy maid,
To whom ensued a vacancy;
Thousand worse passions then possess'd
The interregnum of my breast;
Bless me from such an anarchy!

Gentle Henrietta then,

And a third Mary next began ;

Then Joan, and Jane, and Andria,
And then a pretty Thomasine,
And then another Catharine,
And then a long et cætera.

But should I now to you relate
The strength and riches of their state,
The powder, patches, and the pins,
The ribands, jewels, and the rings,
The lace, the paint, and warlike things,
That make up all their magazines:

If I should tell the politic arts
To take and keep men's hearts;
The letters, embassies, and spies,
The frowns, the smiles, and flatteries,
The quarrels, tears, and perjuries,
Numberless, nameless, mysteries!

And all the little lime-twigs laid
By Machiavel, the waiting maid;
I more voluminous should grow.
(Chiefly if I, like them, should tell
All change of weather that befel)
Than Holinshed or Stow.

But I will briefer with them be,
Since few of them were long with me;
An higher and a nobler strain
My present emperess does claim,
Eleonora, first o' the name,

Whom God grant long to reign.

THE SOUL.

I

mine eyes do e'er declare

They've seen a second thing that's fair,

Or ears, that they have music found,
Besides thy voice, in any sound;

If my taste do ever meet

After thy kiss, with ought that's sweet;

If my busied touch allow

Ought to be smooth, or soft, but thou;
If, what seasonable springs

Or the eastern summer brings,
Do my smell persuade at all;
Ought perfume but thy breath to call;
May I as worthless seem to thee,
As all but thou appear to me.

If I ever anger know,

Till some wrong be done to you;

If ever I a hope admit,

Without thy image stamp'd on it;

Or any fear, till I begin

To find that you 're concern'd therein;

If a joy e'er come to me,

That tastes of any thing but thee;

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