"* No christian mother bound thy infant head, "Some Turk begat thee, or fome Papist bred; "Or dropt on Cambrian hills, a squalid brat, "Some fhe-goat fuckled thee with favage teat. "Go to thy drab, whoe'er has won thy heart, "And may the pox devouring make thee fmart; "My vengeful ghost shall haunt thee o'er the plain, "Yes, thou fhalt fuffer, villain, for my pain. "But ah! my rage relents, my forrow flows; "Come COLIN! faithlefs fhepherd! eafe my woes. "Aud muft I in the fheet opprobrious ftand?

66

Thy plight is troth'd, ah! come and give thy hand: "My confcience ftarts, whene'er I hear a knell, "And is a little love deferving hell?

"Too hard a penance for a fin fo flight!

"Ah how my heart mifgives me every night! "When fleep has clos'd my forrow-streaming eyes, "Then ghaftly dreams, and hateful thoughts arife:

Nec tibi diva parens, generis nec Dardanus au&tor,
Perfide, fed duris genuit te cautibus horrens
Caucafus, Hyrcanaque admorunt ubera tigres.

+ I, fequere Italiam ventis, &c.

Spero equidem mediis, fiquid pia numina, &c.

§ Omnibus umbra locis adero, dabis, improbe, pœnas.

Æn. 4.

"* All unaccompany'd methinks I go

"O'er Irish bogs, a wilderness of woe!

Ah! my wits turn! ftrange phantoms round me fly! "Lo! I am chang'd into a goofb'ry pye!

"Forbear to eat me up, inhuman rabble! "Cocks crow, ducks quake, hens cackle, turkies gabble."

Thus as the rav'd, her womb with rueful throes Did to the light a lufty babe disclose :

Long while fhe doubted of the fmirking boy,
Or on her knee to dandle, or destroy;

Love prompted' her to fave, and Pride to drown,
At length Pride conquer'd, and the dropt her fon.

Semperque relinqui

Sola fibi, femper longam incomitata videtur
Ire viam, & Tyrios defertâ quærere terrâ.

Eumenidum veluti demens videt agmina Pentheus, &c.

Æn. 4.

ON A

LA D Y's

PRESENTING A SPRIG OF MYRTLE

то A

GENTLEMAN.

W

BY MR. HAMMOND.

7HAT fears, what terrors does thy gift create! Ambiguous emblem of uncertain fate! The myrtle, enfign of supreme command, (Confign'd by VENUS to MELISSA's hand) Not lefs capricious than a reigning fair, Oft favours, oft rejects the lover's care. In myrtle groves oft fings the happy fwain, In myrtle shades despairing ghosts complain; The myrtle crowns the happy lovers heads, Th' unhappy lovers graves the myrtle spreads; Oh! then the meaning of thy gift impart, And cure the throbbings of an anxious heart; Soon muft this bough, as you fhall fix his doom, Adorn PHILANDER's head, or grace his tomb.

ΤΟ

A YOUNG LADY

WITH

FONTENELLE'S PLURALÍTY OF WORLDS.

'N this fmall work all nature's wonders fee,
The foften'd features of philofophy.

In truth by easy steps you here advance,
Truth, as diverting as the best romance.
Long had these arts to fages been confin'd,
None faw their beauty, till by poring blind;
By studying spent, like men that cram too full,
From Wisdom's feast they rose not chear'd, but dull:
The gay and airy fmil'd to see 'em grave,
And fled fuch wifdom like TROPHONIUS' cave.
Juftly they thought they might thofe arts defpife,
Which made men fullen, ere they could be wife.
Brought down to fight, with ease you view 'em here;
Tho' deep the bottom, yet the stream is clear.
Your flutt'ring fex ftill valued fcience lefs;
Careless of any, but the arts of dress.
Their useless time was idly thrown away
On empty novels, or fome new-born play.
The beft, perhaps, a few loose hours might spare
For fome unmeaning thing, mifcall'd a pray'r.

A

In vain the glittering orbs, each starry night,
With mingling blazes fhed a flood of light:
Each nymph with cold indiff'rence faw 'em rife;
And, taught by fops, to them preferr'd her eyes.
None thought the stars were funs fo widely fown,.
None dreamt of other worlds, befides our own.
Well might they boast their charms, when ev'ry fair
Thought this world all, and hers the brightest here.
Ah! quit not the large thoughts this book inspires,
For thofe thin trifles which your fex admires;
Affert your claim to fenfe, and fhew mankind,
That reason is not to themselves confin'd.
The haughty belle, whofe beauty's awful fhrine.
'Twere facrilege t' imagine not divine,
Who thought fo greatly of her eyes before,
Bid her read this, and then be vain no more.
How poor ev'n You, who reign without controul,
If we except the beauties of your
foul !
Should all beholders feel the fame surprize;
Should all who fee you, fee you with my eyes;
Were no fuch blasts to make that beauty less;
Should you be what I think, what all confefs :
'Tis but a narrow space thofe charms engage;
One Island only, and not half an Age.