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X.

S 0 N G,

VIII.

But now our fears tempestuous grow, Written at Sea, in the first Durch War, 1665, the And cast our hopes away; night before an Engagement.

Whilft you, regardless of our woe,

Sit careless at a play:
I.

Perhaps, permit some happier man
O all you ladies now at land,

To kiss your hand, or flirt your fan.
We men, at sea, indite ;

With a fa, &c.
But first would have you understand,

IX.
How hard it is to write ;
The Muses now, and Neptune too,

When any mournful tune you hear,

That dies in every note;
We must implore to write to you,

As if it Gogh'd with each man's care,
With a fa, la, la, la, la.

For being so remote ;
II.

Think how often love we're made
For though the Muses should prove kind,

To you, when all those tunes were play'd
And fill our empty brain ;

With a fa, &c.
Yet if rough Neptune rouze the wind,
To wave the azure main,

In justice you cannot refuse,
Our paper, pen, and ink, and we,

To think of our diftress;
Roll up and down our ships at sea.

When we for hopes of honour lose
With a fa, &c.

Our certain happiness;
III.

All those designs are but to prove

Ourselves more worthy of your lore.
Then if we write not by each post,

With a fa, &c.
Think not we are unkind;

XI.
Nor yet conclude our ships are loft,
By Dutchmen, or by wind :

And now we've told you all our loves
Our tears we 'll send a speedier way,

And likewise all our fears ;
T'he tide shall bring them twice a-day.

In hopes this declaration moves
With a fa, &c.

Some pity from your tears;

Let 's hear of no inconstancy,
IV.

We have too much of that at fea.
The king with wonder and surprise,

With a fa, la, la, la, la.
Will swear the seas grow bold;
Because the tides will higher rise,
Than e'er they us’d of old :

ON THE COUNTESS OF DORCHESTER,
But let him know, it is our tears
Bring floods of grief to Whitehall stairs.

Miffress to King James the second, 1680. With a fa, &c.

I. v.

"ELL me, Dorinda, why fo gay, Should foggy Opdam chance to know

Why such embroidery, fringe, and lace? Our fad and dismal story;

Can any dresses find a way,
The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe,

To stop th' approaches of decay,
And quit their fort at Goree:

And mend a ruin'd face?
For what resistance can they find
From men who 've left their hearts behind !

Wilt thou fill sparkle in the box,
With a fa, &c.

Still ogle in the ring ?
VI.

Canft thou forget thy age and por ?

Can all that shines on thells and rocks
Let wind and weather do its worst,

Make thee a finc young thing?
Be you to us but kind;
Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse,

III.
No sorrow we shall find :

So have I seen in larder dark 'Tis then no matter how things go,

Of veal a lucid loin ;
Or who's our friend, or who 's our foe,

Replete with many a brilliant spark,
With a fa, &c.

As wise philosophers remark,
VII.

At once both stink and shine.
To pass our tedious hours away,

We throw a merry main; Or else at serious ombre play ;

ON THE SAME. But, why should we in vain Each other's ruin thus pursue ?

1. Ws were undone when we left you.

ROUD with the spoils of royal cully, With a fa, &c.

With false pretence to wit and parts,

T!

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II.

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She swaggers like a batter'd bully,

In spite of you, I must regain
To try the tempers of mens hearts.

My loss of time, and break your chain.
You were mistaken, if you thought

I was so grossly to be caught ;
Though the appear as glittering fine,

Or that I was so blindly bred,
As gems, and jetts, and paint can make her ; As not to be in woman read.
She ne'er can win a breaft like mine ;

Perhaps you took me for a fool,
The devil and Sir David * take her.

Design'd alone your fex's tool ;
Nay, you might think so mad a thing,
That, with a little fashioning,

I might in time, for your dear fake,
Κ Ν Ο Τ Τ Ι Ν G.

That monster call'd a husband make :

Perhaps I might, had I not found T noon, in a sunshiny day,

One darling vice in you abound ;

A vice to me, which e'er will prove Young Chloris innocent and gay,

An antidote to banish love.

O! I could better bear an old, Sat knotting in a shade :

Ugly, diseas'd, mis-shapen scold, Each Nender finger play'd its part,

Or one who games, or will be drunk, With such activity and art,

A fool, a spendthrift, bawd, or punk, As would inflame a youthful heart,

Than one at a wbo wildly flies, And warm the most decay'd.

And, with soft, alking, giving eyes,

And thousand other wanton arts,
Her favourite swain, by chance, came by,
He saw no anger in her eye;

So meanly trades in begging hearts.
Yet when the bashful boy drew nigh,

How might such wondrous charms perplex,

Give chains, or death, to all our sex, She would have seem'd afraid.

Did she not so unwisely set, She let her ivory needle fall,

For every fluttering fool her net! And hurl'd away the twisted ball :

So poorly proud of vulgar praise, But straight gave Strephon such a call,

Her very look her thoughts betrays; As would have rais'd the dead.

She never stays till we begin,

But beckons us herself to fin. Dear gentle youth, is 't none but thee?

Ere we can alk, she cries consent, With innocence I dare be free;

So quick her yielding looks are sent, By so much truth and modesty

They hope forestal, and ev'n defire prevent. No nymph was e'er betray'd.

But Nature's turn'd when women woo, Come lean thy head upon my lap;

We hate in them what we should do ; While thy smooth cheeks I stroke and clap,

Desire 's alleep, and cannot wake,
Thou may ft securely take a nap;

When women such advances make :
Which he, poor fool, obey'd.

Both time and charms thus Phyllis waftes,

Since each must surfeit ere he tastes. She saw him yawn, and heard him snore,

Nothing escapes her wandering eyes, And found him fast alleep all o'er.

No one she thinks too mean a prize ;
She figh’d, and could endure no more,

Ev'n Lynch *, the lag of human kind,
But starting up, the said,

Nearest to brutes by God design'd,
Such virtue shall rewarded be:

May boast the smiles of this coquet, For this thy dull fidelity,

As much as any man of wit. I'll trust you with my flocks, not me,

The ligns hang thinner in the Strand,

The Dutch scarce more infest the land,
Pursue thy grazing trade ;

Though Egypo's locusts they outvie,
Go, milk thy goats, and shear thy sheep,

In number and voracity ; And watch all night thy flocks to keep ;

Whores are not half ro plenty found,
Thou shalt no more be lull'd asleep

In play-house, or that hallow'd ground
By me mistaken maid.

Of Temple-walks, or Whetstone's-park;
Carefles less abound in Spark t ;
Than with kind looks for all who come,

At bawdy-house, the Drawing-room:
THE ANTIQUATED COQUET, But all in vain the throws her darts,

They hit, but cannot hurt our hearts :
A SATIRE ON A LADY OF IRELAND +.

Age has enerv'd her charms so much,
That fearless all her eyes approach ;

Each her autumnal face degrades
HYLLIS, if you will not agree,

With “ Reverend Mother of the Maids !"
To give me back my liberty ;
* Sir David Colycar, late Earl of Portmore.

A notorious debauchee.
#Suppored to be of the name of Clanbrazil.

† Elizabeth Spark, a noted courtezan.

}

P

Bui

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

She's plump, yet with ease you may span round be Forgetting what her charms have done ;

waist, To 'Teagueland we this beauty owe,

But her round swelling thighs can scarce be embrac't: Teagueland her earliest charms did know:

Her belly is fott, not a word of the reft : There first her tyrant beauties reignd;

But I know what I think, when I drink to the belts Where'er she look'd, the conquest gain'd. No heart the glances could repel,

III. The Teagues in shoals before her fell;

The plowman and 'squire, the arranter clown, And trotting bogs was all the art,

At home the fubdued in her paragon gown; The found had left to save his heart.

But now she adorns both the boxes and pit, She kill'd fo fast, by my salvation,

And the proudeft town gallants are fore'd to submit; She near dispeopled half the nation :

All hearts fall a-leaping wherever she comes, Though she, good soul, to save took care

And beat day and night, like my Lord Craven's drumi. All, all she could from sad despair. From thence the hither came to prove

IV. If yet her charms could kindle love:

I dare not permit her to come to Whitehall, But, ah! it was too late to try,

For she'd out-thine the ladies, paint, jewels, and all: For Spring was gone, and Winter nigh:

If a lord should but whisper his love in a crowd, Yet though her eyes such conquests made,

She'd fell him a bargain, and laugh out aloud : That they were fhunn'd, or else obey'd,

Then the Queen, overhearing what Betty did lay, Yet now her charms are so decay'd,

Would send Mr. Roper to take her away.
She thanks each coxcomb that will deign
To praise her face, and wear her chain.

v. So some old soldier, who had done

But to those that have had my dear Bess in their res, Wonders in youth, and battles won,

She 's gentle, and knows how to soften her charms; When feeble years his strength depose,

And to every beauty can add a new grace, That he too weak to vanquish grows,

Having learn'd how to lisp, and to trip in her pace; With mangled face and wooden leg,

And with head on one side, and a languishing eys, Reduc'd about for alms to beg,

To kill us by looking as if she would die.
O'erjoy'd, a thousand thanks bestows
On him who but a farthing throws.

S O N G.
S O NG

I.
To Chloris, from the BLIND ARCHIR."

A Y the ambitious ever find
I.

Success in crowds and noise,

While gentle love does fill my mind
H! Chloris, 'tis time to disarm your bright eyes,

With filent real joys!
And lay by those terrible glances ;

II.
We live in an age that 's more civil and wise,
Than to follow the rules of romances.

May knaves and fools grow rich and great,

And the world think them wise,
II.

While I lie dying at her feet,
When once your round bubbies begin but to pout,

And all the world despife.
They'll allow you no long time of courting ;

III.
And you 'll find it a very hard talk to hold out ;
For all maidens are mortal at fourteen.

Let conquering kings new triumphs raise,

And melt in Court delights ;
Her eyes can give much brighter days,

Her arms much softer nights.
S O N G.

I.
ETHINK S the poor town has been troubled A FRENCH SONG PARAPHRASED.

too long,
With Phyllis and Chloris in every song,

N
By fools, who at once can both love and despair,

As mighty Lewis lay,
And will never leave calling them cruel and fair ; She cry'd, if I have any charms,
Which juftly provokes me in rhyme to express

My deareft, let 's away.
The truth that I know of bonny Black Bess.
II.

For you, my Love, is all my fear!

Hark! how the drums do rattle! This Bess of my heart, this Bess of my soul,

Alas, Sir! what should you do here Has a skin white as milk, and hair black as a coal;

In dreadful day of battle?

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PHY

Let Yttle Orange stay and fight,

For danger 's his diversion;
The wise will think you in the right,

Not to expose your person :
Nor vex your thoughts how to repair

The ruins of your glory ;
You ought to leave so 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 secure your fame, - Go take some town or buy it ; Whilft you, great Sir, at Nôtre Dame,

Te Deum fing in quiet.

1.
HYLLIS, for shame let us improve

A thousand different ways,
Those few short moments (natch'd by love,
From many tedious days.

II.
If you want courage to despise

The censure of the grave,
Though Love's a tyrant in your eyes,
Your heart is but a Nave.

III.
My love is full of noble pride,

Nor can it e'er submit,
To let that fop, Discretion, ride
In triumph over it.

IV.
Falle friends I have, as well as you,

Who daily counsel me
Fame and Ambition to pursue,
And leave off loving thee.

V.
But when the least regard I hew

To fools who thus advise,
May I be dull enough to grow

Most miserably wise!

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S O N G DO ,

ORINDA's Sparkling wit and eyes, Which blazes high, but quickly dies,

Pains not the heart, but hurts the sight. Love is a calmer gentler joy,

Smooth are his looks, and soft his pace ; Her Cupid is a black-guard boy,

That runs his link full in your face.

His arm reclin'd, the lover's pillow, Thus address'd the charming maid.

II.
0! my Sacharissa tell

How could Nature take delight
That a heart so hard should dwell
In a frame fo soft and white.

III.
Could you feel but half the anguish,

Half the tortures that I bear,
How for you I daily languish,
You 'd be kind as you are fair.

IV.
See the fire that in me reigns,

O! behold a burning man !
Think I feel my dying pains,
And be cruel if you can.

V.
With her conquest pleas'd, the dame

Cry'd, with an insulting look,
Yes, I fain would quench your flame;

She spoke, and pointed to the brook

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

Vrcumvolantum blanda Cupidinum

Huc Mater axes flectat eburncos,
Dum sævientis flagra dextræ

Chaoniæ metuant Columbæ.
Seu, ne jugales heu! nimium pigros
Damnent Amantes, ociùs, ociùs
Impelle currum fortiori

Remigio volitans Olorum.
Junctum marinæ Pelea Conjugit,
Senique junctam Cyprida Troico,
Delira ne jactet vetuftas,

Connubio superata noftro :
Illuftriori ftemmate regiam
Ditabit aulam nobilior Parens;
Virtute et Ænean Nepotes,

Viribus et superent Achillem.
Quin bellicofæ gloria Cimbriæ,
Nunc invidendæ spes, decus Angliæ,
Ira, horror, et vultus minaces

In Dominæ tumulentur ulnis.

Cessate lites ; spicula, machinz
Dormite lethi ; libret et unicus,
Præbent puellæ quas ocelli,

Armiger innocuus sagittas !
Quàm dulce vultu virgineo rubet
Pandora ! (quantum, dum rubet, allicit!)
Tacetque, sed narrant viciffim

Lumina luminibus calores.
Liquiffet Evan Gnoflida, Aoridam
Tu, Plæbe, Daphnen hanc peteres magis :

Nec non Tonantis pluma mendax,

Cornua seu tegerent amores. Lacæna nunquam damna moleftiz Tuliffet, Idæ si puer hue vagus Erráslet, ardentes videret

Funere tergemino penates.
Flammasquc viles crederet llii.
Mercede tali quis ftadium piger
Fatale vitet? quis timeret

Oenomai fremitum sequentis ?
Te præda nullo parta periculo,
Te gaza nullis empta laboribus
Expectat ultrò: fata, Princeps,

Hæc meritis ftatuêre tantis.
Ætas ut aptis vernet amoribus,
Blando fideles murmure turtures,
Nexuque vites arctiori, et

Bafiolis superate conchas.
Cum dextra Cæli prodiga Carolum
Ornârit omni dote, Britanniæ
Oblita, et bæredis futuri,

Nec dederit fimilem aut secundum;
Te, spes ruentis faustior imperi,
Nomen beabit Patris amabile,
Heroas illustres daturum,

Qui domitum moderentur orbem.
Infans Parenti laudibus æmulas
Assurgat, annos diffimulans breves :
Patris decorem mas verendum,
Matris et os referant Puellæ.
CECRGIUS STIPNET, GAI. Trim.

TO

From the “ Hymenæus Cantabrigiensis. Canta“ brigiæ, 1683."-" It is reported,” says Dr. Johnc ron, “ tha: the juvenile compositions of Stepney made grey authors blush. I know not whether his

poems will appear such wonders to the present age. « One cannot always easily find the reason for which " the world has sometimes conspired to squander praise. “ It is not very unlikely that he wrote very early as “ well as he ever wrote ; and the performances of or youth have many favourers." The present 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 use of the same allufion, in his beautiful verses to Kneller

“ The troubled Ocean's Queen

“ Match'd with a Mortal, &c.” But he had the advantage of being able to add,

- her short-liv'd darling son." J. DuncomBI.

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