Obrazy na stronie
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"At dawn poor Stella danc'd and sung; The amorous youth around her bow'd: At night her fatal knell was rung;

I saw, and kiss'd her in her shroud.

"Such as she is, who died to-day;

Such I, alas! may be to-morrow: Go, Damon, bid thy Muse display The justice of thy Chloe's sorrow."

AN ENGLISH PADLOCK.

MISS Danaë, when fair and young,
(As Horace has divinely sung,)
Could not be kept from Jove's embrace
By doors of steel, and walls of brass.
The reason of the thing is clear,
Would Jove the naked truth aver.
Cupid was with him of the party,
And show'd himself sincere and hearty;
For, give that whipster but his errand,
He takes my lord chief justice' warrant:
Dauntless as Death, away he walks ;
Breaks the doors open, snaps the locks;
Searches the parlour, chamber, study;
Nor stops till he has culprit's body.
"Since this has been authentic truth,
By age deliver'd down to youth;
Tell us, mistaken husband, tell us,
Why so mysterious, why so jealous?

Does the restraint, the bolt, the bar,
Make us less curious, her less fair?
The spy, which does this treasure keep,
Does she ne'er say her prayers, nor sleep?
Does she to no excess incline?
Does she fly music, mirth, and wine?
Or have not gold and flattery power
To purchase one unguarded hour?

"Your care does further yet extend:
That spy is guarded by your friend.-
But has this friend nor eye nor heart?
May he not feel the cruel dart,
Which, soon or late, all mortals feel?
May he not, with too tender zeal,
Give the fair prisoner cause to see,
How much he wishes she were free?
May he not craftily infer

The rules of friendship too severe,
Which chain him to a hated trust;
Which make him wretched, to be just?
And may not she, this darling she,
Youthful and healthy, flesh and blood,
Easy with him, ill us'd by thee,
Allow this logic to be good?"

66 Sir, will your questions never end?
I trust to neither spy nor friend.
In short, I keep her from the sight

Of every human face."

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"She'll write."

"From pen and paper she's debarr'd."

"Has she a bodkin and a card?

She'll prick her mind." "She will, you say: But how shall she that mind convey?

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I keep her in one room: I lock it:
The key, (look here,) is in this pocket.”
"The key-hole, is that left ?"

tain.

"Most cer

"She'll thrust her letter through, sir Martin.”-
"Dear, angry friend, what must be done?
"Is there no way?"-"There is but one.
Send her abroad: and let her see,

That all this mingled mass, which she,
Being forbidden, longs to know,
Is a dull farce, an empty show,
Powder, and pocket-glass, and beau;
A staple of romance and lies,

False tears and real perjuries:

Where sighs and looks are bought and sold,
And love is made but to be told:

Where the fat bawd and lavish heir
The spoils of ruin'd beauty share ;
And youth, seduc'd from friends and fame,
Must give up age to want and shame.
Let her behold the frantic scene,
The women wretched, false the men :
And when, these certain ills to shun,
She would to thy embraces run;
Receive her with extended arms,
Seem more delighted with her charms;
Wait on her to the Park and play;
Put on good-humour; make her gay;
Be to her virtues very kind;

Be to her faults a little blind;
Let all her ways be unconfin'd;

And clap your padlock-on her mind."

A SONG.

Ir wine and music have the power
To ease the sickness of the soul,
Let Phoebus every string explore,

And Bacchus fill the sprightly bowl.
Let them their friendly aid employ,
To make my Chloe's absence light;
And seek for pleasure, to destroy

The sorrows of this live-long night.

But she to-morrow will return :

Venus, be thou to-morrow great;
Thy myrtles strow, thy odours burn,
And meet thy favourite nymph in state.
Kind goddess, to no other powers

Let us to-morrow's blessings own:
Thy darling loves shall guide the hours;
And all the day be thine alone.

THE FEMALE PHAETON.

THUS KITTY*, beautiful and young,

And wild as colt untam'd,

Bespoke the fair from whence she sprung,

With little rage inflam'd:

Lady Catharine Hyde, now Duchess of Queens

berry.

Inflam'd with rage at sad restraint,
Which wise mamma ordain'd;
And sorely vext to play the saint,
Whilst wit and beauty reign'd:

"Shall I thumb holy books, confin'd
With Abigails forsaken?
Kitty's for other things design'd,
Or I am much mistaken.

"Must lady Jenny frisk about, And visit with her cousins?

At balls must she make all the rout,

And bring home hearts by dozens?

"What has she better, pray, than I,
What hidden charms to boast,
That all mankind for her should die,
Whilst I am scarce a toast?

"Dearest mamma! for once let me,
Unchain'd, my fortune try;
I'll have my earl as well as she,
Or know the reason why.

"I'll soon with Jenny's pride quit score,

Make all her lovers fall:

They'll grieve I was not loos'd before;

She, I was loos'd at all."

The Earl of Essex married Lady Jane Hyde.

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