(Far more than e'er can by yourself be guess'd) Fix on Vertumnus, and reject the rest.

For his firm faith I dare engage my own;
Scarce to himself, himself is better known.
To diftant lands Vertumnus never roves;
Like you, contented with his native groves;
Nor at first fight, like moft, admires the fair;
For you he lives; and you alone shall share
His laft affection, as his early care.

Befides, he's lovely far above the rest,
With youth immortal, and with beauty bleft.
Add, that he varies every shape with ease,
And tries all forms that may Pomona please.
But what should most excite a mutual flame,
Your rural cares, and pleasures are the fame.
To him your orchards early fruits are due,
(A pleafing offering when 'tis made by you)
He values thefe; but yet (alas!) complains,
That still the best and dearest gift remains.
Not the fair fruit that on yon' branches glows
With that ripe red th' autumnal fun beftows;
Nor tasteful herbs that in these gardens rife,
Which the kind foil with milky fap fupplies;
You, only you, can move the God's defire:
Oh crown fo conftant and fo pure a fire!
Let foft compaffion touch your gentle mind;
Think, 'tis Vertumnus begs you to be kind;
So may no frost, when early buds appear,
Destroy the promise of the youthful year;
Nor winds, when first your flo.id orchard blows,
Shake the light blossoms from their blasted boughs!

This when the various God had urg'd in vain, He ftrait affum'd his native form again;

Such, and fo bright an afpect now he bears,
As when thro' clouds th' emerging fun appears,
And thence exerting his refulgent ray,

Difpels the darkness, and reveals the day.
Force he prepar'd, but check'd the rafh defign;
For when, appearing in a form divine,
The Nymph furveys him, and beholds the grace
Of charming features, and a youthful face!
In her foft breaft confenting paffions move,
And the warm maid confefs'd a mutual love.

L. 3

O F

ENGLISH POETS.

Done by the AUTHOR in his Youth.

I.

CHAUCER.

WOMEN ben full of Ragerie,

Yet fwinken nat fans fecrefie.

Thilke moral fhall ye understond,
From Schoole-boy's Tale of fayre Ireland:
Which to the Fennes hath him betake,
To filch the gray Ducke fro the Lake.
Right then, there paffen by the Way
His Aunt, and eke her Daughters tway.
Ducke in his trowfes hath he hent,
Not to be fpied of Ladies gent.
"But ho! our Nephew, (crieth one)
"Ho quoth another, Cozen John;"
And stoppen, and lough, and callen out,-
This filly Clerk full low doth lout:
They afken that, and talken this,
"Lo here is Coz, and here is Miss.",

But, as he glozeth with speeches foote,
The Ducke fore tickleth his Erfe roote:
Fore-piece and buttons all to-brest,

Forth thrust a white neck, and red crest.
Te-he, cry'd Ladies; Clerke nought spake:
Mifs ftar'd; and gray Ducke cryeth Quaake.
"O Moder, Moder, (quoth the daughter)
"Be thilke fame thing Maids longen a'ter?
"Bette is to pine on coals and chalk,

"Then truft on Mon, whofe yerde can talke."