The painter must have search'd the skies
To match the luftre of her eyes.

Comparing then, while thus we view
The ancient Venus, and the new,
In her we many mortals fee,
As many goddesses in thee.

APOLOGY

A N

FOR AN

SURPRIZE.

UNSEASONABLE

FAirest Zelinda, ceafe to chide, or grieve,

Nor blush at joys that only you can give.

Who with bold eyes furvey'd thofe matchlefs charms, Is punish'd, feeing in another's arms.

:

With greedy looks he views each naked part,
Joy feeds his fight, and envy tears his heart.
So caught was Mars, and Mercury aloud
Proclaim'd his grief, that he was not the god
So to be caught was every god's desire ;
Nor lefs than Venus can Zelinda fire.
Forgive him then, thou more than heavenly fair,
Forgive his rafhness, punish'd by despair.

All that we know which wretched mortals feel
In those fad regions where the tortur'd dwell,
Is that they fee the raptures of the blest,
And view the joys that they must never taste.

MYRA

MYRA SINGING.

THE Syrens, once deluded, vainly charm'd;
Ty'd to the maft, Ulyffes fail'd unharm'd :

Had Myra's voice entic'd his liftening ear,

The Greek had stopt, and would have dy'd to hear.
When Myra fings, we feek th' inchanting found,
And blefs the notes, that can fo fweetly wound:
What mufick needs muft dwell upon that tongue,
Whofe fpeech is tuneful as another's fong?
Such harmony, fuch wit, a face fo fair,
So many pointed arrows who can bear?
Who from her wit, or from her beauty flies,
If with her voice fhe overtakes him, dies.
Like foldiers fo in battle we fucceed,
One peril 'feaping, by another bleed;

In vain the dart or glittering fword we fhun,
Condemn'd to perish by the flaughtering gun.

MYRA IN HER RIDING IIA BIT.

W

HEN Myra in her fex's garb we fee,

The Queen of Beauty then the feems to be;

Now, fair Adonis, in this male-difguife,

Or Cupid, killing with his mother's eyes:
No ftile of empire chang'd by this remove,
Who feem'd the Goddefs, feems the God of Love.

SONG

TOMY R A.

Orfaken of my kindly stars,

Forfaken

Within thy melancholy grove

I waste my days and nights in tears,

A victim to ungrateful love.

The happy ftill untimely end:

Death flies from grief; or why fhould I many hours in forrow spend,

Wishing, alas! in vain to die? Ye powers! take pity of my pain, This, only this, is my defire; Ah! take from Myra her difdain, Or let me with this figh expire.

SONG

TO MYR A.

WHY fhould a heart fo tender break?

O Myra! give its anguish case :

The ufe of beauty you mistake,

Not meant to vex, but please. Thofe lips for fmiling were defign'd, That bofom to be prest,

Your eyes to languish and look kind,

For amorous arms your wafte :
Each thing has its appointed right
Establish'd by the powers above;

The fun and ftars give warmth and light,
The fair diftribute love.

ΤΟ

NAture, indulgent, provident, and kind,

In all things that excel fome ufe defign'd,
The radiant fun, of every heavenly light
The firft, did Myra not difpute that right,
Sends from above ten thousand bleffings down,
Nor is he fet fo high for fhow alone;
His beams reviving with aufpicious fire,
Freely we all enjoy what all admire.

The moon and ftars, thofe faithful guides of night,
Are plac'd to help, not entertain, the fight.
Plants, fruits, and flowers, the fertile fields produce,
Not for vain ornament, but wholefome ufe;
Health they restore, and nourishment they give,
We fee with pleasure, but we tafte to live.
Then think not, Myra, that thy form was meant
More to create defire, than to content:
Would the juft gods fo many charms provide
Only to gratify a mortal's pride?

Would they have rais'd thee fo above thy fex

Only to play the tyrant, and to vex ?

'Tis impious pleasure to delight in harm,
And beauty fhould be kind, as well as charm.

M YR A'S PARROT.

IN thofe firft times, when nymphs were rude and coy,

The gods difguis'd, laid ambushes for joy;
From Jove in feathers, harmless to the fight,
Læda, without a blush, accepts delight.
Myra, as chafte as Læda, and more fair,
Forgive an anxious lover's jealous care,
And O take heed, for, if fuch tales were true,
The gods may practise these designs on you;
Their heaven and all their brightness they will quit
For any form, that
may to you admit.

See, how the wanton bird, at every glance,

Spreads his gay plumes, and feels an amorous trance;

Preft by that hand, he melts at every touch;

Preft by that hand, who would not melt as much ?

The Queen of Beauty fhall forfake the dove,

Henceforth the parrot be the bird of love.

TO MY RA.
YRA.

SINCE truth and conftancy are vain,

Since neither love, nor fense of pain,
Nor force of reafon, can perfuade,
Then let example be obey'd.

In courts and cities, could you
How well the wanton fools agree,

fee

Were