Criticks I read on other men,

And hypers upon them again;

From whose remarks I give opinion
On twenty books, yet ne'er look in one.
Then all your wits that fleer and sham,
Down from Don Quixote to Tom Tram;
From whom I jefts and puns purloin,
And flily put them off for mine:
Fond to be thought a country wit:
The reft-when fate and you think fit.
Sometimes I climb my mare, and kick her
To bottled ale, and neighbouring vicar;
Sometimes at Stamford take a quart,

Squire Shephard's healthWith all my heart.
Thus, without much delight or grief,

I fool

away an idle life:

Till Shadwell from the town retires
(Choak’d up with fame and fea-coal fires),
To bless the wood with peaceful lyrick :
Then hey for praife and panegyrick;
Juftice reftor'd, and nations freed,

And wreaths round William's glorious head.

To the COUNTESS of DORSET. Written in her Milton. By Mr. BRADBURY.

SEE

EE here how bright the first-born virgin fhone, And how the firft fond lover was undone. Such charming words, our beauteous mother spoke, As Milton wrote, and fuch as yours her look.

Yours

Yours, the best copy of th' original face,
Whose beauty was to furnish all the race:
Such chains no author could escape but he;
There's no way to be fafe, but not to fee.

To the Lady DURSLEY. On the fame Subject.

H

ERE reading how fond Adam was betray'd,

And how by fin Eve's blafted charms decay'd;
Our common lofs unjustly you complain;
So fmall that part of it, which you fuftain.
You ftill, fair mother, in your offspring trace
The ftock of beauty deftin'd for the race :
Kind nature, forming them, the pattern took
From Heaven's first work, and Eve's original look.

You, happy faint, the ferpent's power controul:
Scarce any actual guilt defiles your
foul:
And hell does o'er that mind vain triumph boaft,
Which gains a Heaven, for earthly Eden loft.

With virtue strong as yours had Eve been arm'd,
In vain the fruit had blufh'd, or ferpent charm'd;
Nor had our blifs by penitence been bought;
Nor had frail Adam fall'n, nor Milton wrote.

To my Lord BUCKHURST, very young,
playing with a CAT.

TH

HE amorous youth, whofe tender breast
Was by his darling cat poffeft,

Obtain'd of Venus his defire,

Howe'er irregular his fire:

Nature

The cat became a blushing maid;

And, on the happy change, the boy
Employ'd his wonder and his joy.

Take care, O beauteous child, take care,
Left thou prefer so rash a prayer:
Nor vainly hope, the queen of love
Will e'er thy favourite's charms improve.
O quickly from her shrine retreat;
Or tremble for thy darling's fate.

The queen

of love, who foon will fee

Her own Adonis live in thee,

Will lightly her first loss deplore ;
Will eafily forgive the boar:

Her eyes with tears no more will flow;
With jealous rage her breaft will glow :
And, on her tabby rival's face,

She deep will mark her new difgrace.

WHILE from our looks, fair nymph, you guess

The fecret paffions of our mind;

My heavy eyes, you fay, confefs,

A heart to love and grief inclin'd.
II.

There needs, alas! but little art,

To have this fatal fecret found; With the fame ease you threw the dart, 'Tis certain you may fhew the wound..

III. How

III.

How can I fee you, and not love,

While you as opening east are fair?
While cold as northern blasts you prove,
How can I love, and not despair ?
IV.

The wretch in double fetters bound
Your potent mercy may release:
Soon, if my love but once were crown'd,
Fair prophetefs, my grief would ceafe.

A SON G.

IN vain you tell your parting lover,

You with fair winds may waft him over.

Alas! what winds can happy prove,
That bear me far from what I love?

Alas! what dangers on the main
Can equal thofe that I fuftain,
From flighted vows, and cold disdain?

Be gentle, and in pity choose
"To with the wildeft tempefts loofe :
"That, thrown again upon the coast
Where firft my fhipwreck'd heart was loft,
I may once more repeat my pain;
Once more in dying notes complain
Of flighted vows, and cold disdain,

}

The

The DESPAIRING SHEPHERD.

A1

LEXIS fhunn'd his fellow-fwains, Their rural fports, and jocund ftrains : (Heaven guard us all from Cupid's bow!) He loft his crook, he left his flocks; And, wandering through the lonely rocks, He nourish'd endless woe.

The nymphs and fhepherds round him came = His grief fome pity, others blame;

The fatal caufe all kindly feek:

He mingled his concern with theirs ;

He

gave them back their friendly tears; He figh'd, but would not fpeak.

Clorinda came among the rest;
And the too kind concern expreft,
And afk'd the reafon of his woe:
She afk'd, but with an air and mien,
That made it easily forefeen,

She fear'd too much to know.

The fhepherd rais'd his mournful head;
And will you pardon me, he said,

While the cruel truth reveal?

Which nothing from my breast should tear
Which never should offend your ear,

But that you bid me tell.