For fo I wish, whene'er my refliefs Thoughts
Dwell on her Falfhoods, and repeated Faults.
All other Plagues know fometimes to be civil,
But Woman is a fure, perpetual Evil.
No Pimp I brib'd to prove thy perjur'd Vows,
Nor intercepted once thy Billets-doux.
O! cou'dft thou but my Arguments difprove!
A Cause so good is here unwish'd in Love.
Happy, who dares t'avow his cenfur'd Flame,
And vindicate the fecret-tripping Dame.
Blushless tho' guilty, with uplifted Eyes,

'Tis falfe, my Life, by yon bright Heav'n, fhe cries.
bimfelf he fools, and madly feeds his Grief,
Who from Conviction feeks the fad Relief.
Wretched I faw thy Wantonnefs unfought,
By thee in Sleep fecure, and Eyeless, thought.
With Glances on each other how you hung!
How ev'ry Nod had more than half a Tongue!
How roul'd thy glowing Eyes! how lewd they spoke!
Ev'n from thy artful Fingers Language broke.
While Writing on the Board with Pens they vy'd,
And the fpilt Wine the Want of Ink supply'd.
The filent Speech too well I understood;
For to deceive a Lover, yet who cou'd ?
Tho' thou didst write in a Laconick Hand,
And Words for Sentences were taught to stand.
Now ended was the Treat, and ev'ry Guest
Indulg'd his Eafe, and lay compos'd to Reft.
Your close, lascivious Kiffes then I fpy'd,
And fomething more, than Lips to Lips apply'd:

Such

Such from a Sister Brothers ne'er receive,

But yielding Fair ones to warm Lovers give.
Not fo Diana would to Phoebus prefs,
But Cytherea fo her Mars would blefs.

Too far provok'd, at laft I cry'd aloud,

On whom are Pleasures, due to me, bestow'd ?
I must not, will not, cannot bear this Sight;
'Tis lawful fure to feize upon my Right.
These Raptures to us both in common are,
But whence, ye Furies, claims a Third his Share?
Enrag'd I spoke, and o'er her Cheeks were fpread
Swift new-born Glories in a fudden Red.

Such Blushes on the bridal Night adorn
The trembling Virgin; fuch the rifing Morn.
So fweet a Hue the lab'ring Cynthia shows,
Or the fair Lilly damak'd by the Rose;
Or Iv'ry, which Time's yellow Taint defies,
When twice enrich'd with proud Affyrian Dies.
Such were her Looks, and a diviner Grace
Had never brighten'd that enchanting Face.
She caft her Eyes down on the humble Ground;
Her Eyes fo caft, an unknown Sweetnefs found.
Mournful her Looks; her mournful Looks became,
Shining thro' Grief, and beautiful in Shame.
I rush'd, refolv'd her golden Locks to tear,
And with mad Violence difrobe the Fair:

But as I view'd her Face, th' extended Hand

Shrunk back, nor hearken'd to the harsh Command. Others Protection feek by Dint of Arms,

Her only Safe-guard were her wond'rous Charms.

I, who but late, look'd infolently brave,

Fell from my Height, and couch'd a fuppliant Slave.
I rav'd no longer at another's Bliss,

But begg'd the Tranfport of as fweet a Kifs.
Smiling she said, How grateful thy Request!
If e'er my Kiffes please thee, take the best,

Oh! with what Guft, as from her Soul they came!
Such might melt Jove, and stop the vengeful Flame!
I fear'd my Rival too enjoy'd the fame.

These better, than from me fhe learn'd, I thought,
Something taught new, alas! I wish'd untaught.
What most gave Pleasure, that now stings the most ;
Why were our darting Tongues entirely loft?
Nor fret I, thou in kiffing shouldft excel,
And yet 'tis ftrange to know to kifs fo well:
But ah! fuch Lectures only could be read
By youthful Tutors, and imbib'd abed.

That Sage, who e'er these large Improvements made,
Was by his Pupil preciously repay'd.

}

A

ELEGY VI.

By Mr. CREECH.

Las, poor Poll, my Indian Talker, dies!

Go Birds, and celebrate his Obfequies.

Go Birds, and beat your Breafts, your Faces tear,
And pluck your gaudy Plumes, instead of Hair.

Let

Let doleful Tunes the frighted Forests wound,

And your fad Notes fupply the Trumpet's Sound.
Why, Philomel, dost mourn the Thracian Rage?
It is enough, thy Grief at laft affwage:

His Crimson Faults are now grown white with Age.
Now mourn this Bird; the Cause of all thy Woe
Was great, 'tis true, but it was long ago.
Mourn all ye wing'd Inhabitants of Air,
But you, my Turtle, take the greatest Share!

You two liv'd conftant Friends, and free from Strife,
Your Kindness was entire, and long as Life.
What Pylades to his Oreftes vow'd,

To thee, poor Poll, thy friendly Turtle fhow'd,
And kept his Love as long as Fate allow'd.

But ah, what did thy Faith, thy Plumes, and Tail,
And what thy pretty Speaking-Art avail?

}

}

And what that thou wert given, and pleas'd my Mifs,
Since now the Bird's unhappy Glory dies?
A lovely verdant Green grac'd every Quill,
The deepest vivid Red did paint thy Bill:
In fpeaking thou didst every Bird excel,

None prattled, and none lifp'd the Words fo well.
'Twas Envy only fent this fierce Disease,

Thou wert averse to War, and liv'dft in Peace,
A talking harmless thing, and lov'dft thine Eafe.
The fighting Quails ftill live 'midst all their Strife,
And even that, perhaps, prolongs their Life.
Thy Meat was little, and thy prattling Tongue
Would ne'er permit to make thy Dinner long:

}

Plain Fountain-Water all thy Drink allow'd,
And Nut, and Poppy-feed were all thy Food.
The preying Vultures, and the Kites remain,
And the unlucky Crow ftill caws for Rain.

The Chough ftill lives, 'midft fierce Minerva's Hate,
And fearce nine hundred Years conclude her Fate.
But my poor Poll now hangs his fickly Head,
My Poll, my Present from the East, is dead.
Beft things are fooner fnatcht by cov'tous Fate,
To worse the freely gives a longer Date.
Therfites brave Achilles' Fate furviv'd;

And Hector fell, whilft all his Brothers liv'd.
Why fhould I tell, what Vows Corinna made?
How oft fhe begg'd thy Life, how oft the pray'd?
The Seventh-day came, and now the Fates begin
'To end the Thread, they had no more to Spin.
Yet ftill he talkt, and when Death nearer drew,
His laft Breath faid, Corinna, now adieu.
There is a fhady Cypress Grove below,
And thither (if fuch doubtful things we know)
The Ghofts of pious Birds departed go.
'Tis water'd well, and verdant all the Year,
And Birds obfcene do never enter there:
There harmless Swans fecurely take their Reft,
And there the fingle Phanix builds her Neft.
Proud Peacocks there display their gaudy Train,
And billing Turtles Coo o'er all the Plain.
To thefe dark Shades my Parrot's Soul shall
And with his Talk divert the Birds below,

}

go,

Whilft