Her well-turn'd limbs confess The lucky hand of Jove; The beauteous Queen of Love; When I behold the breast Of that too charming maid Venus round Fanny's waist How happy must he be Who shall her zone unloose! That bliss to all, but me, May heaven and she refuse! * CHESTERFIELD. Now see my Goddess, earthly born +, * Written on Lady Frances Shirley. + This song is designed as a contrast to an address to Wisdom. Furnish'd Furnish'd from nature's boundless store, She proves all far-sought knowledge vain. Untaught as Venus, when she found And laughing begg'd the Tritons round And unaccomplish'd all as Eve Yet there is something in her face, And there is magic in her eye, And And there are words that she can speak, Most easy to be understood, More sweet than all the Heathen Greek And she has raptures in her power, Let me but kiss her soft warm hand, And let me whisper in her ear What Knowledge would not understand, And Wisdom would disdain to hear. And let her listen to my tale, AH, how sweet it is to love! Pains of love are sweeter far Than all other pleasures are. Sighs which are from lovers blown Cure, like trickling balm, their smart. Love and time with reverence use, Which in youth sincere they send : Love, like spring-tides full and high, But each tide does less supply, Till they quite shrink-in again. If a flow in age appear, 'Tis but rain, and runs not clear. DRYDEN. AH! tell me no more, my dear girl, with a sigh, Shall thy graces, O Cynthia! that gladden my day, Upbraiding, shall Gratitude say, with a tear, Why yes! it may happen, thou damsel divine!— To be honest-I freely declare That e'en now to thy converse so much I incline, I've already forgot thou art fair. WOLCOTT, |