Dissembling what I knew too well,

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My love, my life," said I, explain
This change of humour: pry'thee tell:
That falling tear-what does it mean?"

She sigh'd: she smiled: and to the flowers
Pointing, the lovely moralist said:
"See! friend, in some few fleeting hours,
See yonder, what a change is made.

"Ah me, the blooming pride of May,
And that of Beauty are but one;
At morn both flourish bright and gay,
Both fade at evening, pale, and gone.

"At morn poor Stella danced and sung;
The amorous youth around her bow'd;
At night her fatal knell was rung;

I saw, and kissed her in her shroud.

"Such as she is, who died to-day;
Such I, alas! may be to-morrow:
Go, Damon, bid thy muse display
The justice of thy Chloe's sorrow."

Matthew Prior.

CI.

THE LOVER.

Addressed to Congreve.

At length, by so much importunity press'd,
Take, Congreve, at once the inside of my breast.
The stupid indifference so often you blame,
Is not owing to nature, to fear, or to shame;

I am not as cold as a virgin in lead,

Nor is Sunday's sermon so strong in my head;
I know but too well how old Time flies along,

That we live but few years, and yet fewer are young.

But I hate to be cheated, and never will buy
Long years of repentance for moments of joy.
O! was there a man-but where shall I find
Good sense and good nature so equally join'd ?—

Would value his pleasures, contribute to mine;
Not meanly would boast, and not grossly design;
Not over severe, yet not stupidly vain,

For I would have the power, but not give the pain.

No pedant, yet learned; no rakey-hell gay,
Or, laughing, because he has nothing to say;
To all my whole sex obliging and free,
Yet never be loving to any but me;
In public preserve the decorum that's just,
And show in his eye he is true to his trust;
Then rarely approach, and respectfully bow,
But not fulsomely forward, or foppishly low.

But when the long hours of public are past,
And we meet with champagne and a chicken at last,
May every fond pleasure the moment endear;
Be banish'd afar both discretion and fear!
Forgetting or scorning the aim of the crowd,
He may cease to be formal, and I to be proud,
Till, lost in the joy, we confess that we live,
And he may be rude, and yet I may forgive.

And that my delight may be solidly fix'd,

Let the friend and the lover be handsomely mix'd,
In whose tender bosom my soul may confide,

Whose kindness can soothe me, whose counsel can guide

For such a dear lover as here I describe,

No danger should fright me, no millions should bribe;

But till this astonishing creature I know,

As I long have lived chaste, I will keep myself so.

I never will share with the wanton coquet,

Or be caught by a vain affectation of wit,
The toasters and songsters may try all their art,
But never shall enter the pass of my heart.

I loathe the mere rake, the drest fopling despise:
Before such pursuers the chaste virgin flies:
And as Ovid so sweetly in parable told,

We harden like trees, and like rivers grow cold.

Lady Mary W. Montagu.

CII.

THE merchant, to secure his treasure,
Conveys it in a borrow'd name:
Euphelia serves to grace my measure;
But Chloe is my real flame.

My softest verse, my darling lyre
Upon Euphelia's toilet lay;
When Chloe noted her desire,

That I should sing, that I should play.

My lyre I tune, my voice I raise ;
But with my numbers mix my sighs:
And while I sing Euphelia's praise,
I fix my soul on Chloe's eyes.

Fair Chloe blush'd: Euphelia frown'd:

I sung, and gazed: I play'd, and trembled:

And Venus to the Loves around

Remark'd, how ill we all dissembled.

Matthew Prior.

CIII.

ON THE LOSS OF TIME.

IF life be time that here is lent,

And time on earth be cast away,
Whoso his time hath here mis-spent
Hath hasten'd his own dying day;
So it doth prove a killing crime
To massacre our living time.

If doing nought be like to death,
Of him that doth, chameleon-wise,
Take only pains to draw his breath,

The passers-by may pasquilize,
Not, here he lives; but, here he dies.
John Hoskins.

CIV.

MEDIOCRITY IN LOVE REJECTED.

GIVE me more love, or more disdain ;
The torrid or the frozen zone
Bring equal ease unto my pain,
The temperate affords me none;
Either extreme of love or hate
Is sweeter than a calm estate.

Give me a storm; if it be love,
Like Danae in that golden shower,
I swim in pleasure; if it prove

Disdain, that torrent will devour
My vulture hopes; and he's possess'd
Of Heaven that is from Hell released;
Then crown my joys or cure my pain;
Give me more love, or more disdain.

Thomas Carew.

CV.

MRS. FRANCES HARRIS' PETITION.

Written in the year 1701.

To their Excellencies the Lord Justices of Ireland.

The humble petition of Frances Harris, who must starve, and die a maid, if it miscarries.

Humbly sheweth,

That I went to warm myself in Lady Betty's chamber, because I was cold,

And I had in a purse seven pounds, four shillings, and sixpence, besides farthings, in money and gold:

So, because I had been buying things for my lady last night,
I was resolved to tell my money, and see if it was right.
Now you must know, because my trunk has a very bad lock,
Therefore all the money I have, which God knows, is a very
small stock,

I keep in my pocket, tied about my middle, next my smock.

So, when I went to put up my purse, as luck would have it, my smock was unript,

And instead of putting it into my pocket, down it slipt:
Then the bell rung, and I went down to put my lady to bed:
And, God knows, I thought my money was as safe as my
stupid head!

So, when I came up again, I found my pocket feel very light:
But when I search'd, and miss'd my purse, law! I thought
I should have sunk outright.

“Lawk, madam,” says Mary, “how d'ye do?” “Indeed,” says I, never worse:

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But pray, Mary, can you tell what I've done with my purse?" "Lawk, help me!” said Mary, "I never stirred out of this place:

"Nay," said I, “I had it in Lady Betty's chamber, that's a plain case.'

So Mary got me to bed, and cover'd me up warm:

However, she stole away my garters, that might do myself no harm.

So I tumbled and toss'd all night, as you may very well think, But hardly ever set my eyes together, or slept a wink.

So I was a-dream'd, methought, that I went and search'd the folks round,

And in a corner of Mrs. Dukes's box, tied in a rag the money was found.

So next morning we told Whittle, and he fell a-swearing: Then my dame Wadger came: and she, you know, is thick of hearing:

'Dame," said I,

as loud as I could bawl, "do you know what a loss I have had?"

"Nay," said she, 'my Lord Colway's folks are all very sad; For my Lord Dromedary comes a Tuesday without fail." Pugh!" said I, "but that's not the business that I ail." Says Cary, says he, "I've been a servant this five-andtwenty years come spring,

And in all the places I lived I never heard of such a thing.” "Yes," says the Steward, "I remember, when I was at my Lady Shrewsbury's.

Such a thing as this happen'd, just about the time of gooseberries."

So I went to the party suspected, and I found her full of

grief,

(Now, you must know, of all things in the world I hate a

thief,)