The LADY who offers her LOOKING-GLASS, to VENUS.

Taken from an Epigram of PLATO.

VENUS, take my votive glass;

VENU

Since I'am not what I was;

What from this day I fhall be,

Venus, let me never fee.

CLOE

JEALO U S.

I.

FOR

ORBEAR to ask me, why I weep;
Vext Cloe to her shepherd faid;
'Tis for my two poor ftraggling fheep,
Perhaps, or for my fquirrel dead.

II.

For mind I what you late have writ?
Your fubtle queftions and replies?
Emblems, to teach a female wit

The ways, where changing Cupid flies
III.

Your riddle purpos'd to rehearse

The general power that beauty has : But why did no peculiar verse

Describe one charm of Cloe's face?

IV. The

IV.

The glass, which was at Venus' fhrine,
With fuch myfterious forrow laid :
The garland (and you call it mine)

Which fhew'd how youth and beauty fade:
V.

Ten thousand trifles light as these
Nor can my rage, nor anger, move : ·
She should be humble, who would please ;
And she must suffer, who can love.
VI.

When in my glass I chanc'd to look ;
Of Venus what did I implore?

That every grace, which thence I took,

Should know to charm my Damon more.
VII.

Reading thy verse; who heeds, faid I,
If here or there his glances flew ?
O, free for ever be his eye,

Whose heart to me is always true!
VIII.

My bloom indeed, my little flower
Of Beauty quickly lost its pride:
For, fever'd from its native bower,
It on thy glowing bofom dy'd.
IX.

Yet car'd I not what might prefage

Or withering wreath, or fleeting youth; Love I esteem'd more strong than Age, And Time lefs permanent than Truth.

X.

Why then I weep, forbear to know:
Fall uncontroul'd, my tears, and free;
Damon! 'tis the only woe,

I ever yet conceal'd from thee.

XI.

The fecret wound with which I bleed
Shall lie wrapt up, ev'n in my hearse;
But on my tomb-ftone thou shalt read
My answer to thy dubious verse.

Answer to CLOE JEALOUS, in the fame Stile; the AUTHOR fick.

YES,

I.

"ES, faireft proof of Beauty's power,
Dear idol of my panting heart,

Nature points this my fatal hour:

And I have liv'd; and we must part.

Left yet my half-clos'd eye may view,

On earth an object worth its care.

III.

From Jealoufy's tormenting ftrife
For ever be thy bofom freed:
That nothing may disturb thy life,

Content I haften to the dead.

IV. Yet

IV.

Yet when some better-fated youth

Shall with his amorous parly move thee;
Reflect one moment on his truth
Who dying thus, perfifts to love thee.

A BETTER

ANSWER.

DEAR Cloe, how blubber'd is that pretty face! Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurl'd: Pr'ythee quit this caprice; and (as old Falftaff says) Let us ev'n talk a little like folks of this world.

II.

How canft thou prefume, thou haft leave to destroy The beauties, which Venus but lent to thy keeping? Those looks were defign'd to infpire love and joy : More ordinary eyes may ferve people for weeping.

III.

To be vext at a trifle or two that I writ,

Your judgment at once, and my paffion, you wrong: You take that for fact, which will fcarce be found wit: Od's-life! muft one fwear to the truth of a fong?

IV.

What I fpeak, my fair Cloe, and what I write, fhews

The difference there is betwixt nature and art:

I court others in verfe; but I love thee in profe:
And they have my whimfies, but thou haft my heart.

VOL. L.

K

V. The

V.

The God of us verfe-men (you know, child) the Sun,

How after his journeys he fets up his rest:

If at morning o'er earth 'tis his fancy to run;
At night he declines on his Thetis's breast.
VI.

So when I am weary'd with wandering all day;
To thee my delight in the evening I come :
No matter what beauties I faw in my way;
They were but my vifits, but thou art my home.

VII.

Then finifh, dear Cloe, this pastoral war;
And let us like Horace and Lydia agree:
For thou art a girl as much brighter than her,
As he was a poet fublimer than me.

PALLAS

TH

AN D VENU S.

AN EPIGRAM.

HE Trojan Swain had judg'd the great difpute, And Beauty's power obtain'd the golden fruit ; When Venus, loofe in all her naked charms, Met Jove's great daughter clad in fhining arms. The wanton goddess view'd the warlike maid From head to foot, and tauntingly she said: Yield, fifter; rival, yield naked, you see, I vanquish guess how potent I should be, If to the field I came in armour dreft;

:

Dreadful, like thine, my fhield, and terrible my crest!

I

The