III.

Could you feel but half the anguish,
Half the tortures that I bear,
How for you I daily languish,
You'd be kind as you are fair.

IV.

See the fire that in me reigns,
O! behold a burning man ;
Think I feel my dying pains,
And be cruel if you can.

V.

With her conqueft pleas'd, the dame
Cry'd, with an insulting look,

Yes, I fain would quench your flame;
She spoke, and pointed to the brook.

CONT

ENT S.

To Mr. Edward Howard, on his incomparable incomprehenfible Poem, call'd "The British Princefs"

To the fame, on his Plays

Page 187

189

To Sir Thomas St. Serf, on the printing his Play called Tarugo's Wiles," 1668

66

190

Epilogue to Moliere's Tartuffe. Tranflated by Mr. Medburne. Spoken by Tartuffe

191

Epilogue on the Revival of Ben Jonfon's Play, called

66

Every Man in his Humour"

193

Song, written at Sea in the first Dutch War, 1665, the Night before an Engagement

195

On the Countefs of Dorchefter, Miftrefs to King James

the Second, 1680

On the fame

Knotting

198

199

ibid.

The Antiquated Coquette. A Satire on a Lady of

Ireland

Song. To Chloris, from the Blind Archer

201

204

Song. "Methinks the poor Town has been troubled

"too long," &c.

Song. "May the Ambitious ever find," &c.
A French Song paraphrased

Song. "Phyllis the fairest of Love's Foes," &c.

Song. "Dorinda's fparkling Wit and Eyes" "Sylvia, methinks you are unfit"

Song. Phyllis, for fhame, let us improve"
Song, "Corydon, beneath a Willow"

205

206

207 208

ibid.

209

ibid.

210

POEMS

But, ah! it was too late to try,

For Spring was gone, and Winter nigh:
Yet though her eyes fuch conquests made,
That they were fhunn'd, or elfe obey'd,
Yet now her charms are fo decay'd,
She thanks each coxcomb that will deign
To praise her face, and wear her chain.

So fome old foldier, who had done
Wonders in youth, and battles won,
When feeble years his ftrength depose,
That he too weak to vanquish grows,
With mangled face and wooden leg,
Reduc'd about for alms to beg,
O'erjoy'd, a thousand thanks bestows
On him who but a farthing throws.

TO CHLOR IS, from the "BLIND ARCHER."

I.

AH! Chloris, 'tis time to difarm your bright eyes,

And lay by thofe terrible glances;

We live in an age that's more civil and wise
Than to follow the rules of romances.

II.

When once your round bubbies begin but to pout,
They'll allow you no long time of courting;
And you'll find it a very hard task to hold out;
For all maidens are mortal at fourteen.

SONG.

ΜΕ

ETHINKS the poor town has been troubled too long,

With Phyllis and Chloris in every fong,

By fools, who at once can both love and despair,
And will never leave calling them cruel and fair;
Which juftly provokes me in rhyme to express
The truth that I know of bonny Black Befs.

II.

This Befs of my heart, this Befs of my foul,

Has a skin white as milk, and hair black as a coal; She's plump, yet with ease you may span round her waift, But her round fwelling thighs can scarce be embrac'd : Her belly is foft, not a word of the rest:

But I know what I think, when I drink to the best.

III.

The plowman and 'fquire, the arranter clown, At home fhe fubdued in her paragon gown;

But now she adorns both the boxes and pit,

And the proudest town gallants are forc'd to submit;
All hearts fall a-leaping wherever the comes,
And beat day and night, like my Lord Craven's drums.

IV.

I dare not permit her to come to Whitehall, For fhe'd out-fhine the ladies, paint, jewels, and all : If a lord fhould but whifper his love in the crowd, She'd fell him a bargain, and laugh out aloud :