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A Shopkeeper of London then opened his Love Case,
He told her he was Famous for Penning an Address;

She told City-wisdom was known by their Affairs,

Guild-Hall was full of Wit too in choice of Sheriffs and Mayors.

Then ah! be kind, etc.

Next came a smug Physician upon a Pacing Mare,

But she declared she liked him much worse than any there;
He was so used to Blisters, she told him to his Face,

He always would be bobbing his Pipe at the wrong place.
Then ah! be kind, etc.

The Parson of the Town then did next his flame reveal,
She made him second Mourning, and covered him with Meal;
The Man of God stood fretting, she bid him not be vext,
'Twill serve you for a Surplice to Cant in Sunday next.
Then ah! be kind, etc.

Now if you'd know the reason she was to them unkind,
There was a brisk young Farmer that taught her still to

grind;

She knew him for a Workman that had the ready skill,

To open well her Water-gate, and best supply her Mill.

Then ah! be kind, my Dear, be kinder, was the Ditty still,
When pretty Kate of Windsor came to the Mill.

Lamentation for Dorinda

pass

BY MATTHEW PRIOR. FROM POEMS, 1722
FAREWELL ye shady walks, and fountains,
Sinking valleys, rising mountains:
Farewell ye crystal streams, that
Thro' fragrant meads of verdant grass:
Farewell ye flowers, sweet and fair,
That used to grace Dorinda's hair:
Farewell ye woods, who used to shade
The pressing youth, and yielding maid:
Farewell ye birds, whose morning song
Oft made us know we slept too long:
Farewell dear bed, so often prest,
So often above others blest,

With the kind weight of all her charms,
When panting, dying, in my arms.
Dorinda's gone, gone far away,
She's gone, and Strephon cannot stay:
By sympathetic ties I find

That to Her sphere I am confin'd;
My motions still on Her must wait,
And what She wills to me is fate.

She's gone, O! hear it all ye bowers, Ye walks, ye fountains, trees, and flowers, For whom you made your earliest show, For whom you took a pride to grow. She's gone, O! hear ye nightingales, Ye mountains ring it to the vales, And echo to the country round, The mournful, dismal, killing sound: Dorinda's gone, and Strephon goes, To find with Her his lost repose.

But ere I go, O! let me see,

That all things mourn Her loss like me:
Play, play, no more ye spouting fountains,
Rise, ye valleys, sink, ye mountains;
Ye walks, in moss, neglected lie,
Ye birds, be mute; ye stream, be dry.
Fade, fade, ye flowers, and let the rose
No more its blushing buds disclose:
Ye spreading beech, and taper fir,
Languish away in mourning Her;
And never let your friendly shade,
The stealth of other Lovers aid.
And thou, O! dear, delightful bed,
The altar where Her maidenhead,
With burning cheeks, and down cast eyes,
With panting breasts, and kind replies,
And other due solemnity,

Was offer'd up to love and me.

Hereafter suffer no abuse,

Since consecrated to our use,

As thou art sacred, don't profane

Thy self with any vulgar stain,
But to thy pride be still displayed,
The print her lovely limbs have made:

See, in a moment, all is chang'd,

The flowers shrunk up, the trees disrang'd,
And that which wore so sweet a face,
Become a horrid, desert place.
Nature Her influence withdraws,
Th' effect must follow still the cause,
And where Dorinda will reside,
Nature must there all gay provide.
Decking that happy spot of earth,
Like Eden's-Garden at its birth,
To please Her matchless, darling Maid,
The wonder of her Forming-Trade;
Excelling All who e'er Excelled,
And as we ne'er the like beheld,
So neither is, nor e'er can be,
Her Parallel, or Second She.

Advice To a Lady

BY MATTHEW PRIOR. FROM POEMS, 1722

PHILLIS, give this humour over,
We too long have time abused;
I shall turn an errant rover,
If the favour's still refused.

Faith! 'tis nonsense out of measure,
Without ending thus to see
Women forced to taste a pleasure
Which they love as well as we.

Let not pride and folly share you,
We were made but to enjoy;
Ne'er will age or censure spare you,
E'er the more for being coy.

Never fancy Time's before you,
Youth, believe me, will away;
Then, alas! who will adore you,
Or to wrinkles tribute pay?

All the swains on you attending
Show how much your charms deserve;
But, miser-like, for fear of spending,
You amidst your plenty starve.

While a thousand freer lasses,

Who their youth and charms employ, Though your beauty theirs surpasses, Live in far more perfect joy.

An Answer To the Curious Maid
BY MATTHEW PRIOR, 1731

To Cloe's Lap all Men must yield;
Against this Part there is no shield.

-LATE MISCELL.

THY Muse, O Bard! that Wonders tell,
Fair Cloe's Charms Below Reveals;

The Blissful Seat all Men Adore,

When felt; when seen, that strikes no more:
Tho' thus thy Muse Displays the Place,
Full oft Review'd in Shining Glass;
Yet Still Neglects thy vent'rous Lyre,
The Greatest Joys which Youths inspire.

As Labourers in the Oozy Mine, Must deep Descend, (as Lakes of Brine) In caverns dark, thro' Veins below, Thro' Mazes, Turnings, Windings go, Earth's Treasures far beneath unbind, The Gold and Silver Ore to find; So must each Swain his Courage prove, Within, to seek the Joys of Love.

When Ships at Sea, in Storms are tost, By furious Gales in Tempest lost; When foaming Waves disturb the Main; Below the Waters move Serene; Thus Ruff to view tho' Cloe's Pride, Within the greatest Charms reside.

'Tis no One Toy that wins the Swain, That gives to Youthful Damon Pain; The Eyes like Stars, and shining Hair, The globous Breasts our Youths Ensnare; Fine Ivory Limbs concealed, Surprize; The Vale, and Mount, and Snowy Thighs, Of Beauteous Cloe ne'er employed In Love, nor Ever once Enjoyed;

He's more than Man that These can view, And not the Game of Love pursue.

When panting Breast to Breast is joined We Feast on Raptures unconfined, Vast and Luxuriant, such as prove, The Immortality of Love.

Love's Palace fills each Breast with Fire,
This Damon moves with strong Desire:
As Lilies fair the Banks adorn,
And Violets in the Bosom worn;
As near some purling Streams are seen,
The spreading Boughs of Willow Green;
As Trees that grace the verdant Plain,
And Hills compleat the Rural Scene;
As Noble Mansions furnished round,
With Hangings fair and Fringe abound;
So Cloe gay has pow'rful Charms,
To set off what the Lover warms.

No single Joy the Swain excites,
"Tis All the Female that invites;
Her Sense, her Wit, her Beauties all,
By which the Youthful Lovers fall.

As Warriors in the Martial Field,
Make Stubborn Foes to Conduct yield,
By various Arts and Toils prevail,
When Cannons loud and Mortars fail;
Thus when their Charms Below are vain,
By others Females Conquest gain.

The Swimming Lady: Or,

A Wanton Discovery

ANONYMOUS. FROM COLL. OF OLD BALLADS, 1723

Being a true Relation of a Coy Lady betray'd by her Lover as she was Stripping herself stark Naked, and Swimming in a River near Oxford.

THE four and twentieth Day of May,

Of all Times in the Year,

A Virgin-Lady bright in and gay,
Did privately appear

Close by a River-side, which she

Did single out the rather,

'Cause she was sure, she was secure,
And had an Intent to bath her.
With glittering Glance, her jealous Eyes,
Did slyly look about,

To see if any lurking Spies,

Were hid to find her out;
And being well resolv'd that none
Could view her Nakedness;
She puts her Robes off, one by one
And doth her self undress.

A purple Mantle (fringed with Gold)
Her Ivory Hands unpin,

It would have made a Coward bold,
Or tempted a Saint to sin;
She turns about to look again,
I hope, says she, I am safe,
And then a Rosy Petticoat,
She presently put off.

The Snow-White Smock which she had on
Transparently so decked her,

It looked like Cambrick-Lawn, upon

An Alabaster Picture,

Thro' which your Eye might faintly spy

Her Belly and her Back;

Her Limbs were strait, and all was white

But that which should be black.

The Part which she's ashamed to see
Without a bashful Blush,

Appeared like curious Tiffany
Displayed upon a Bush:
But that Posterior extreme Limb
She cannot look upon,

Did like a twisted Cherry seem
Before the white was gone.

As when a Masquing Scene is drawn,
And new Lights do appear,

When she put off her Smock of Lawn,

Just such a Sight was there:

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