CALLED INCONSTANT. HA A! ha! you think you've kill'd my fame, But, when you call us fo, It can at best but for a metaphor go. Can you the fhore inconftant call, Which still, as waves pafs by, embraces all; Or can you fault with pilots find For changing courfe, yet never blame the wind? Since, drunk with vanity, you fell, The things turn round to you that stedfast dwell; So the fame error feizes you, As men in motion think the trees move too. THE WELCOME... Go, let the fatted calf be kill'd ;. My prodigal's come home at laft, With noble refolutions fill'd, And fill'd with forrow for the past : No 1 No more will burn with love or wine; Welcome, ah! welcome, my poor heart! Dear wanderer! fince from me you fled, Haft thou not found each woman's breast (The lands where thou haft travelled) Either by favages poffeft, Or wild and uninhabited? What joy could'ft take, or what repose, Luft, the scorching dog-star, here When once or twice you chanc'd to view Like China, it admitted you But to the frontier-part. From Paradife shut for evermore, What good is 't that an angel kept the door? Well Well fare the pride, and the difdain, My dove, but once let loofe, I doubt Would ne'er return, had not the flood been out. THE HEART FLED AGAIN. FAL ALSE, foolish heart! didft thou not say, Behold! again 'tis fled away, Fled as far from me as before. I ftrove to bring it back again; The wind bore him and her loft words away.. The doleful Ariadne so, On the wide shore forfaken ftood: "Falfe Thefeus, whither doft thou go?" Afar falfe Thefeus cut the flood. But Bacchus came to her relief; Bacchus himself 's too weak to ease my grief. Ah! Ah! fenfelefs heart, to take no rest, Thus to be froz'n in every breast! Well, fince thou wilt not here remain, I'll e'en to live without thee try; My head shall take the greater pain, WOMEN'S SUPERSTITION. OF R I'm a very dunce, or woman-kind I can no fenfe nor no contexture find, By customs and traditions they live, Yet they continue obftinate: > Preach we, Love's prophets, what we will, Like Jews, they keep their old law still, 13 Before Before their mothers' Gods they fondly fall, Which they, as we do them, adore. But then, like men both covetous and devout, At their own charge to furnish it To these expensive Deities The hearts of men they facrifice. SOME THE SOUL. OME dull philofopher-when he hears me fay Nor has of late inform'd my body here, That neither is, nor will be, I, As a form fervient and affifting there Will cry, "Abfurd !" and ask me how I live; · Her |