A Shopkeeper of London then opened his Love Case, 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 always would be bobbing his Pipe at the wrong place. The Parson of the Town then did next his flame reveal, Now if you'd know the reason she was to them unkind, 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, Lamentation for Dorinda pass BY MATTHEW PRIOR. FROM POEMS, 1722 With the kind weight of all her charms, That to Her sphere I am confin'd; 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: 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, See, in a moment, all is chang'd, The flowers shrunk up, the trees disrang'd, Advice To a Lady BY MATTHEW PRIOR. FROM POEMS, 1722 PHILLIS, give this humour over, Faith! 'tis nonsense out of measure, Let not pride and folly share you, Never fancy Time's before you, All the swains on you attending 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 To Cloe's Lap all Men must yield; -LATE MISCELL. THY Muse, O Bard! that Wonders tell, The Blissful Seat all Men Adore, When felt; when seen, that strikes no more: 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, No single Joy the Swain excites, As Warriors in the Martial Field, 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, Close by a River-side, which she Did single out the rather, 'Cause she was sure, she was secure, To see if any lurking Spies, Were hid to find her out; A purple Mantle (fringed with Gold) It would have made a Coward bold, The Snow-White Smock which she had on 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 Appeared like curious Tiffany Did like a twisted Cherry seem As when a Masquing Scene is drawn, When she put off her Smock of Lawn, Just such a Sight was there: |