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And shakes her wings and will not stay,

I puff the prostitute away:
The little or the much she gave, is quietly resign'd:

Content with poverty, my soul I arm;
And virtue, tho' in rags, will keep me warm.

John Dryden.


Fair Amoret is gone astray,

Pursue, and seek her, every lover ;
I'll tell the signs by which you may

The wandering shepherdess discover.
Coquet and coy at once her air,

Both studied, tho’ both seem neglected;
Careless she is, with artful care,

Affecting to seem unaffected.
With skill her eyes dart every glance,

Yet change so soon you'd ne'er suspect them;
For she'd persuade they wound by chance,

Though certain aim and art direct them.
She likes herself, yet others hates

For that which in herself she prizes ;
And, while she laughs at them, forgets
She is the thing that she despises.

William Congreve.



A BAND, a Bob-wig, and a Feather,
Attack'd a lady's heart together.
The Band, in a most learned plea,
Made up of deep philosophy,
Told her, if she would please to wed
A reverend beard, and take, instead

Of vigorous youth,

Old solemn truth,
With books and morals, into bed,

How happy she would be.

The Bob, he talked of management,
What wondrous blessings heaven sent
On care, and pains, and industry:
And truly he must be so free
To own he thought your airy beaux,
With powder'd wigs, and dancing shoes,
Were good for nothing (mend his soul !)
But prate, and talk, and play the fool.
He said 'twas wealth gave joy and mirth,
And that to be the dearest wife
Of one, who labour'd all his life
To make a mine of gold his own,
And not spend sixpence when he'd done,
Was heaven upon earth.
When these two blades had done, d'ye see,
The Feather (as it might be me)
Steps out, sir, from behind the screen,
With such an air and such a mien-
“Look you, old gentleman,”—in short,
He quickly spoild the statesman's sport.

It proved such sunshine weather,
That you must know, at the first beck
The lady leapt about his neck,
And off they went together!

Sir John Vanbrugh.

LXXXIX. A PAIR WELL MATCHED. Fair Iris I love, and hourly I die, But not for a lip, nor a languishing eye ; She's fickle and false, and there we agree, For I am as false and as fickle as she; We neither believe what either can say, And neither believing, we neither betray. 'Tis civil to swear, and to say things of course; We mean not the taking for better or worse : When present we love; and when absent agree; I think not of Iris, nor Iris of me : The legend of Love no couple can find, So easy to part, or so equally join'd.

John Dryden



ABOUT the sweet bag of a bee,

Two Cupids fell at odds;
And whose the pretty prize should be,

They vow'd to ask the gods.
Which Venus hearing, thither came,

And for their boldness stript them ; And taking thence from each his flame,

With rods of myrtle whipt them. Which done, to still their wanton cries,

When quiet grown she'd seen them, She kist, and wiped their dove-like eyes : And gave the bag between them.

Robert Herrick.



As after noon, one summer's day,

Venus stood bathing in a river; Cupid a-shooting went that way,

New strung his bow, new fill'd his quiver With skill he chose his sharpest dart :

With all his might his bow he drew: Swift to his beauteous parent's heart

The too-well-guided arrow flew. I faint! I die! the goddess cried:

O cruel, could'st thou find none other To wreck thy spleen on : Parricide!

Like Nero, thou hast slain thy mother. Poor Cupid sobbing scarce could speak;

“ Indeed, mama, I did not know ye: Alas! how easy my mistake? I took you for your likeness, Chloe.”

Matthewu Prior.


What nymph should I admire or trust,
But Chloe beauteous, Chloe just?
What nymph should I desire to see,
But her who leaves the plain for me?
To whom should I compose the lay,
But her who listens when I play?
To whom in song repeat my cares,
But her who in my sorrow shares?
For whom should I the garland make,
But her who joys the gift to take,
And boasts she wears it for my sake?
In love am I not fully blest?
Lisetta, prythee tell the rest.

Sure Chloe just, and Chloe fair,
Deserves to be your only care;
But, when she and you to-day
Far into the wood did stray,
And I happen'd to pass by;
Which way did you cast your eye?
But, when your cares to her you sing,
You dare not tell her whence they spring;
Does it not more afflict your heart,
That in those cares she bears a part?
When you the flowers for Chloe twine,
Why do you to her garland join
The meanest bud that falls from mine?
Simplest of swains! the world may see,
Whom Chloe loves, and who loves me.

Matthew Prior.

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The sun was now withdrawn,

The shepherds home were sped; The moon wide o'er the lawn

Her silver mantle spread;

DEAR Chloe, how blubber'd is that pretty face! Pr'ythee quit this caprice; and, as old Falstaff says, How canst thou presume, thou hast leave to destroy

When Damon stay'd behind,

And saunter'd in the grove.
“ Will ne'er a nymph be kind,

And give me love for love?
O! those were golden hours,

When Love, devoid of cares,
In all Arcadia's bowers

Lodg'd nymphs and swains by pairs;
But now from wood and plain

Flies every sprightly lass;
No joys for me remain,

In shades, or on the grass.”
The winged boy draws near;

And thus the swain reproves:
“While Beauty revell’d here,

My game lay in the groves ;
At Court I never fail

To scatter round my arrows;
Men fall as thick as hail,

And maidens love like sparrows.
“Then, swain, if me you need,

Straight lay your sheep-hook down;
Throw by your oaten reed,

And haste away to town.
So well I'm known at Conrt,

None ask where Cupid dwells;
But readily resort
To Bellendens or Lepells.".

John Gay.

XCIV. ANSWER TO CHLOE JEALOUS. Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurl’d: Let us e'en talk a little like folks of this world.

The beauties which Venus but lent to thy keeping: Those looks were design’d to inspire love and joy:

More ordinary eyes may serve people for weeping.

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