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I'll keep it my own self-Safe bind,
Says the old proverb, and safe find.
So, sir, as sure as key or lock-
Your servant, sir-at six o'clock.'
Again, at six, Apelles came,
Found the same prating civil dame.
'Sir, that my master has been here
Will by the board itself appear:
If from the perfect line be found
He has presumed to swell the ground,
Or colours on the draught to lay,
"Tis thus, he order'd me to say,
Thus write the painters of this isle:
Let those of Co remark the style.'

She said; and to his hand restored
The rival pledge, the missive board.
Upon the happy line were laid
Such obvious light and easy shade,
That Paris' apple stood confess'd,
Or Leda's egg, or Chloe's breast.

Apelles view'd the finish'd piece; And live, said he, the arts of Greece! Howe'er Protogenes and I

May in our rival talents vie,

Howe'er our works may have express'd
Who truest drew or colour'd best,
When he beheld my flowing line
He found at least I could design;
And from his artful round I grant
That he with perfect skill can paint.

The dullest genius cannot fail
To find the moral of my tale :
That the distinguish'd part of men,
With compass, pencil, sword, or pen,

Should in life's visit leave their name
In characters which may proclaim
That they with ardour strove to raise
At once their arts and country's praise;
And in their working took great care
That all was full, and round, and fair.

ODE.

THE merchant, to secure his treasure,
Conveys it in a borrow'd name;
Euphelia serves to grace my measure,
But Chloe is my real flame.

My softest verse, my darling lyre,
Upon Euphelia's toilet lay,
When Chloe noted her desire

That I should sing, that I should play.

My lyre I tune, my voice I raise,

But with my numbers mix my sighs;
And, whilst I sing Euphelia's praise,
I fix my soul on Chloe's eyes.

Fair Chloe blush'd; Euphelia frown'd;

I sung and gazed; I play'd and trembled: And Venus to the Loves around

Remark'd how ill we all dissembled,

THE

LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS.

CELIA and I the other day

Walk'd o'er the sand-hills to the sea;
The setting sun adorn'd the coast,
His beams entire, his fierceness lost;
And on the surface of the deep
The winds lay, only not asleep :
The nymph did, like the scene, appear
Serenely pleasant, calmly fair;

Soft fell her words as flew the air.
With secret joy I heard her say,
That she would never miss one day
A walk so fine, a sight so gay.

But, O the change! the winds grow high;
Impending tempests charge the sky;
The lightning flies, the thunder roars,
And big waves lash the frighten'd shores.
Struck with the horror of the sight,
She turns her head, and wings her flight,
And, trembling, vows she 'll ne'er again
Approach the shore, or view the main.

'Once more, at least, look back,' said I, "Thyself in that large glass descry; When thou art in good humour dress'd, When gentle reason rules thy breast, The sun, upon the calmest sea, Appears not half so bright as thee:

'Tis then that with delight I rove
Upon the boundless depth of love;
I bless my chain, I hand my oar,
Nor think on all I left on shore.

'But when vain doubt and groundless fear Do that dear foolish bosom tear, When the big lip and watery eye Tell me the rising storm is nigh, "Tis then thou art yon angry main, Deform'd by winds, and dash'd by rain; And the poor sailor, that must try

Its fury, labours less than I.

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Shipwreck'd, in vain to land I make, While Love and Fate still drive me back : Forced to dote on thee thy own way,

I chide thee first, and then obey.

Wretched, when from thee; vex'd, when nigh; I with thee or without thee die.'

PARTIAL FAME.

THE sturdy man, if he in love obtains,
In open pomp and triumph reigns:
The subtle woman, if she should succeed,
Disowns the honour of the deed.

Though he, for all his boast, is forced to yield; Though she can always keep the field;

He vaunts his conquests, she conceals her shame : How partial is the voice of Fame !

SONG.

In vain you tell your parting love
You wish fair winds may waft him over:
Alas! what winds can happy prove
That bear me far from what I love?
Alas! what dangers on the main
Can equal those that I sustain
From slighted vows and cold disdain ?
Be gentle, and in pity choose
To wish the wildest tempest loose,
That, thrown again upon the coast
Where first my shipwreck'd heart was lost,
I may once more repeat my pain,
Once more in dying notes complain
Of slighted vows and cold disdain.

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