While Paffion lively is exprest

In ruby Pendants o'er the Breast,

And Head inflam'd with fcarlet Creft.

From each proud Step faint Thunder flows, Each angry Look with Light'ning glows; Their Colour, Majesty and Size

Peacocks will view with envious Eyes.

And when, alas! their streaming Life.
With Purple stains the pointed Knife,
Of all the num'rous feather'd Kind
Which here their humble Mansion find,
Or with exalted Pinion foar,

Or skim the Flood with pliant Oar,
None entertain with nicer Meat,

Or yield a more substantial Treat.

O! wou'd my Stars in any State, Where-e'er my Lot, whate'er my Fate,

Some

Some Turkies and a Mully grant,

And Ceres to fupply my Want;

And add to my expecting Arms
A Part'ner but with half your Charms,
That may with Elegance prepare,
And Relish give to wholefome Fare!
Content with this, I'd ask no more,
I never, never fhou'd be poor.

In Friendship, Liberty, and Eafe
Strict Virtue fhou'd my Blifs increase,
While Providence in Nature's Drefs

I trace, and for its Bounty bless,

And sometimes, fporting with the Mufe,
Such inoffenfive Numbers ufe.

Thus sweetly stealing to the Grave,
I'd envy no fuccessful Knave,

Who, by fome vile Contrivance great,

To Plunder owes his gilded State.

To

T

To AURELIA.

HE Spring, the pleafant Spring! is blown,

Let us leave the smoky Town;

From the Mall, and from the Ring,

Ev'ry one has taken Wing;

Cloe, Strephon, Corydon,

All are fled, and all are gone.
What is left you worth your Stay?

Come, Aurelia, come away.

Come, Aurelia, come and see

What a Seat I have for thee;

But the Seat you cannot fee,

'Tis fo hid with Jeffamy,

With the Vine that o'er the Walls,

And in ev'ry Window crawls';

So that I think you'd pause an Hour

Whether 'twere an House or Bow'r ;

Let us there be blith and gay!

Come, Aurelia, come away.

Come with all thy fweetest Wiles,

With thy Graces and thy Smiles;
Come, and we will merry be,

Who fhall be so bleft as we?

We will frolick all the Day,
Ay; we will be wondrous gay,
Harming no one in our Play;
No matter what the People say,
Come, Aurelia, come away.

POETS,

T

POETS, all Amorous.

HE Muses, nine brave spightly Laffes,
Joint-Heireffes of Mount-Parnaffus,
(However strange!) have kept their Hearts
All fafe and found from Cupid's Darts:
Spight of the little fly Deceiver,
They still are Maids as good as ever.
Oft the unlucky Urchin ftrove

To catch them in the Toils of Love;
Hardly a Moment ever scaping,
Without a Wile to take 'em napping.
Freely whene'er they met to dine,
And take a cheerful glafs of Wine,
By flight of hand he wou'd infuse
Love-Powder in the gen'rous Juice.
And then; if any chanc'd to ftray,
The Rogue wou'd inftantly convey
Some handsome Shepherd in her Way.

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