The PICTURE.

In Imitation of ANACREON.

T come with all your skill and care;

HOU flatterer of all the fair,

Draw me fuch a shape and face,
As your flatt'ry would disgrace.
Wish not that she would appear ;
'Tis well for you she is not here;
Scarce can you with fafety fee
All her charms defcrib'd by me:
I, alas! the danger know;
I, alas! have felt the blow;
Mourn, as loft, my former days,
That never fung of CELIA's praise;
And thofe few that are behind
I shall bleft or wretched find,
Only just as she is kind.

With her tempting eyes begin,
Eyes that would draw angels in
To a second, fweeter fin.

Oh, thofe wanton rolling eyes!

At each glance a lover dies:

Make them bright, yet make them willing;

Let them look both kind and killing.

Next, draw her forehead; then her nose,

And lips juft op'ning, that disclofe
Teeth fo bright, and breath so sweet,
So much beauty, so much wit,

Next to her, the matchlefs fhe,

We fhall wonder most at thee.

Then her neck, and breasts, and hair,

And her but my charming fair
Does in a thousand things excel,
Which I must not, dare not tell.
How go on then? oh! I fee,
A lovely VENUs drawn by thee;
Oh how fair fhe does appear!
Touch it only here and there.
Make her yet feem more divine,
Your VENUS then may look like mine,
Whose bright form if once you saw,
You by her would VENUS draw.

On Don ALONzo's being killed in Portugal, upon account of the INFANTA, in the Year 1683.

N fuch a caufe no mufe should fail

'Tis just and noble to bewail The fate of fall'n defert.

In vain ambitious hopes defign'd
To make his foul aspire,
If love and beauty had not join'd
To raise a brighter fire.

Amidst so many dang❜rous foes

How weak the wisest prove! Reason itself would scarce oppose, And feems agreed with love.

If from the glorious height he falls,
He greatly daring dies;

Or mounting where bright beauty calls,
An empire is the prize.

The SURPRIZE.

SAFELY

AFELY perhaps dull crowds admire;
But I, alas! am all on fire.

Like him who thought in childhood past
That dire disease which kill'd at laft,
I durft have fworn I lov'd before,
And fancy'd all the danger o'er ;
Had felt the pangs of jealous pain,
And born the blasts of cold difdain
;
Then reap'd at length the mighty gains,
That full reward of all our pains!

But what was all fuch grief or joy,
That did my heedlefs years employ?
Mere dreams of feign'd fantastick pow'rs,
But the disease of idle hours;
Amusement, humour, affectation,
Compar'd with this fublimer paffion,
Whose raptures, bright as those above,
Outfhine the flames of zeal or love.
Yet think not, Faireft, what I fing,
Can from a love Platonick spring;
That formal foftness (false and vain)
Not of the heart, but of the brain.
'Thou art indeed above all nature;
But I, a wretched human creature.
Wanting thy gentle gen'rous aid,
Of husband, rivals, friends afraid!

F

Amidst all this feraphick fire,
Am almost dying with defire,
With eager wishes, ardent thoughts,
Prone to commit love's wildest faults!
And (as we are on Sundays told
The lufty patriarch did of old)

Would force a blessing from those charms,
And grafp an angel in my arms.