T noon, in a sunshiny day,
The brighter lady of the May,
Young Chloris innocent and gay,
Sat knotting in a shade:

Each flender finger play'd its part,
With fuch activity and art,

As would inflame a youthful heart,
And warm the most decay'd.

Her favourite swain, by chance, came by,
He faw no anger

her eye;

Yet when the bafhful boy drew nigh,
She would have feem'd afraid.

She let her ivory needle fall,
And hurl'd away the twifted ball:
But ftraight gave Strephon fuch a call,

As would have rais'd the dead.

Dear gentle youth, is 't none but thee?
With innocence I dare be free;
By fo much truth and modesty

No nymph was e'er betray'd.
Come lean thy head upon my lap;
While thy fmooth cheeks I ftroke and clap,
Thou may'ft fecurely take a nap;

Which he, poor fool, obey'd.

She faw him yawn, and heard him frore,
And found him faft afleep all o'er.
She figh'd, and could endure no more,
But starting up, the faid,

Such virtue fhall rewarded be:
For this thy dull fidelity,

I'll truft you with my flocks, not me,
Pursue thy grazing trade;

Go, milk thy goats, and fhear thy fheep,
And watch all night thy flocks to keep;
Thou shalt no more be lull'd asleep
By me mistaken maid.

In fpite of you, I must regain
My lofs of time, and break your chain.
You were mistaken, if you thought
I was fo grofsly to be caught;
Or that I was fo blindly bred,
As not to be in woman read.
Perhaps you took me for a fool,
Defign'd alone your fex's tool;
Nay, you might think fo mad a thing,
That, with a little fashioning,

I might in time, for your dear fake,
That monfter call'd a husband make:
Perhaps I might, had I not found
One darling vice in you abound;
A vice to me, which e'er will prove
An antidote to banish love.
O! I could better bear an old,
Ugly, difeas'd, mif-fhapen fcold,
Or one who games, or will be drunk,
A fool, a fpendthrift, bawd, or punk,
Than one at all who wildly flies,
And, with foft, afking, giving eyes,
And thousand other wanton arts,

So meanly trades in begging hearts.

How might fuch wondrous charms perplex,
Give chains, or death, to all our sex,
Did the not fo unwifely fet,
For every fluttering fool her net!
So poorly proud of vulgar praise,
Her very look her thoughts betrays;
She never ftays till we begin,
But beckons us herself to fin.
Ere we can afk, fhe cries confent,
So quick her yielding looks are fent,
They hope foreftal, and ev'n defire prevent.
But Nature's turn'd when women woo,
We hate in them what we fhould do;
Defire 's afleep, and cannot wake,
When women fuch advances make :
Both time and charms thus Phyllis waftes,
Since each muft furfeit ere he taftes.
Nothing efcapes her wandering eyes,
No one the thinks too mean a prize ;
Ev'n Lynch, the lag of human kind,
Nearest to brutes by God defign'd,
May boaft the fmiles of this coquet,
As much as any man of wit.

The figns hang thinner in the Strand,
The Dutch fearce more infeft the land,
Though Egypt's locufts they outvie,
In number and voracity;

Whores are not half fo plenty found,
In play-houfe, or that hallow'd ground
Of Temple-walks, or Whetstone's-park;
Careffes lefs abound in Spark t;
Than with kind looks for all who come,
At bawdy-houfe, the Drawing-room:
But all in vain the throws her darts,
They hit, but cannot hurt our hearts:
Age has enerv'd her charms fo much,
That fearless all her eyes approach;
Each her autumnal face degrades
With "Reverend Mother of the Maids !"

But 'tis ill-natur'd to run on,

Forgetting what her charms have done;
To Teagueland we this beauty owe,
Teagueland her earlieft charms did know:
There first her tyrant beauties reign'd;
Where'er the look'd, fhe conqueft gain'd.
No heart the glances could repel,
The Teagues in fhoals before her fell;
And trotting bogs was all the art,
The found had left to fave his heart.
She kill'd fo faft, by my falvation,
She near difpeopled half the nation :
Though fhe, good foul, to fave took care
All, all fhe could from fad despair.
From thence the hither came to prove
If yet her charms could kindle love:
But, ah! it was too late to try,
For Spring was gone, and Winter nigh:
Yet though her eyes fuch conquests made,
That they were shunn'd, or else obey'd,
Yet now her charms are fo decay'd,
She thanks each coxcomb that will deign
To praise her face, and wear her chain.

So fome old foldier, who had done
Wonders in youth, and battles won,
When feeble years his ftrength depose,
That he too weak to vanquish grows,
With mangled face and wooden leg,
Reduc'd about for alms to beg,
O'erjoy'd, a thousand thanks bestows
On him who but a farthing throws.

She's plump, yet with ease you may span round het waist,

But her round fwelling thighs can fcarce be embrac'd;
Her belly is fott, not a word of the reft:
But I know what I think, when I drink to the beft.
III.

The plowman and 'fquire, the arranter clown,
At home the fubdued in her paragon gown;
But now the adorns both the boxes and pit,
And the proudeft town gallants are fore'd to fubmit;
All hearts fail a-leaping wherever the comes,
And beat day and night, like my Lord Craven's drums.

IV.

I dare not permit her to come to Whitehall, For the 'd out-fhine the ladies, paint, jewels, and all: If a lord should but whisper his love in a crowd, She'd fell him a bargain, and laugh out aloud: Then the Queen, overhearing what Betty did fay, Would fend Mr. Roper to take her away.

V.

But to those that have had my dear Befs in their arms, She's gentle, and knows how to foften her charms; And to every beauty can add a new grace, Having learn'd how to lifp, and to trip in her pace; And with head on one fide, and a languishing eye, To kill us by looking as if she would die.

METH

too long,

With Phyllis and Chloris in every fong,

By fools, who at once can both love and despair, And will never leave calling them cruel and fair; Which justly provokes me in rhyme to exprefs The truth that I know of bonny Black Befs.

II.

This Befs of my heart, this Befs of my foul, Has a skin white as milk, and hair black as a coal;

IN gray-hird Calia's wither'd arms

As mighty Lewis lay,

She cry'd, If I have any charms,
My deareft, let's away.

For you, my Love, is all my fear!

Hark! how the drums do rattle! Alas, Sir! what should you do here In dreadful day of battle?

Let

Let Attle Orange stay and fight,
For danger 's his diverfion;
The wife will think you in the right,
Not to expofe your person:

Nor vex your thoughts how to repair
The ruins of your glory;
You ought to leave fo mean a care
To those who pen your story.
Are not Boileau and Corneille paid
For panegyric writing?
They know how heroes may be made,
Without the help of fighting.
When foes too faucily approach,
'Tis beft to leave them fairly:
Put fix good horses to your coach,
And carry me to Marly.

Let Bouflers, to fecure your fame,
Go take fome town or buy it ;
Whilft you, great Sir, at Nôtre Dame,
Te Deum fing in quiet.

ON THE MARRIAGE OF GEORGE PRINCE OF DENMARK, AND THE LADY ANNE*.

C

Ircumvolantum blanda Cupidinum

Huc Mater axes flectat eburneos, Dum fævientis flagra dextræ

Chaoniæ metuant Columbæ.

Seu, ne jugales heu ! nimium pigros
Damnent Amantes, ociùs, ociùs
Impelle currum fortiori

Remigio volitans Olorum.
Junctum marina Pelea Conjugi †,
Senique junctam Cyprida Troico,
Delira ne jactet vetuftas,
Connubio fuperata nostro :

Illuftriori ftemmate regiam
Ditabit aulam nobilior Parens;
Virtute et Ænean Nepotes,
Viribus et fuperent Achillem.

Quin bellicofæ gloria Cimbriæ,
Nunc invidendæ fpes, decus Angliæ,
Ira, horror, et vultus minaces

In Dominæ tumulentur ulnis.

Canta

*From the "Hymenæus Cantabrigienfis. brigiæ, 1683."-" It is reported," fays Dr. John"fon," that the juvenile compofitions of Stepney "made grey authors blush. I know not whether his "poems will appear fuch wonders to the prefent age. "One cannot always eafily find the reason for which "the world has fometimes confpired to fquander praise. "It is not very unlikely that he wrote very early as "well as he ever wrote; and the performances of "youth have many favourers." The prefent poem is earlier than any one by Stepney hitherto printed; and will therefore without doubt be acceptable to the publick. J. N.

Mr. Addison has made a fine ufe of the fame allunion, in his beautiful verfes to Kneller

"The troubled Ocean's Queen
"Match'd with a Mortal, &c."

But he had the advantage of being able to add,

Ceffate lites; fpicula, machine
Dormite lethi; libret et unicus,
Præbent puellæ quas ocelli,
Armiger innocuus fagittas!

Quàm dulce vultu virgineo rubet
Pandora! (quantum, dum rubet, allicit!)
Tacetque, fed narrant viciffim
Lumina luminibus calores.

Liquiffet Evan Gnoffida, floridam
Tu, Phoebe, Daphnen hanc peteres magis:
Nec non Tonantis pluma mendax,
Cornua feu tegerent amores.

Lacæna nunquam damna moleftiæ
Tuliffet, Ida fi puer hue vagus
Errâffet, ardentes videret

Funere tergemino penates.
Flammafque viles crederet Ilii.
Mercede tali quis ftadium pigar
Fatale vitet quis timeret
Oenomai fremitum fequentis ?
Te præda nullo parta periculo,
Te gaza nullis empta laboribus
Expectat ultrò: fata, Princeps,

Hæc meritis ftatuêre tantis.