CUPID's PASTIME. AN OLD SONNET. T chanc'd of late a fhepherd fwain, I That went to feek his ftraying theep, Within a thicket on a plain Efpied a dainty nymph afleep. Her golden hair o'erfpread her face; The fhepherd stood and gaz'd his fill; Whilft chance, or else perhaps his will, The crafty boy thus fees her fleep, Whom if the wak'd he durft not fee; Behind her clofely feeks to creep, There come, he fteals her fhafts away, And puts his own into their place; Nor dares he any longer stay, But, ere fhe wakes, hies thence apace. Scarce Scarce was he gone, but the awakes, Forth flew the fhaft, and pierc'd his heart, Yet up again forthwith he ftart, And to the nymph he ran amain. Amazed to fee fo ftrange a fight, She shot, and fhot, but all in vain ; Her angry eyes were great with tears, And try them on herself fhe will. Take heed, sweet nymph, trye not thy shaft, Yet try fhe will, and pierce fome bare; That That breast she pierc'd ; and through that breast Love found an entry to her heart; Lord! how this gentle nymph did start, She runs not now ; she shoots no more ; Away she throws both shaft and bow : She thinks the shepherd's haste too slow. Though mountains meet not, lovers may: The god of love sat on a tree, AS S near Porto-Bello lying On the gentle swelling flood, Our triumphant navy rode; From the Spaniards' late defeat : Drank success to England's fleet: Hideous yells and shrieks were heard ; 7 a All All in dreary hammocks fhrouded, On them gleam'd the moon's wan lustre, Heed, O heed, our fatal ftory, You now triumph free from fears, You will mix your joy with tears. See thefe mournful spectres sweeping Ghaftly o'er this hated wave, Whofe wan cheeks are ftain'd with weeping; Thefe were English captains brave: Mark those numbers pale and horrid, Lo, each hangs his drooping forehead, I, by twenty fail attended, Did this Spanish town affright; Nothing then its wealth defended But my orders not to fight: O! that in this rolling ocean I had cast them with disdain, To have quell'd the pride of Spain; For refiftance I could fear none, But with twenty fhips had done What thou, brave and happy Vernon, Haft atchiev'd with fix alone. Then the Bastimentos never Had our foul dishonour feen, Nor the sea the sad receiver Of this gallant train had been. Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying, And her galleons leading home, I had met a traitor's doom, He has play'd an English part, Of a griev'd and broken heart. Unrepining at thy glory, Thy successful arms we hail; But remember our fad story, And let Hofier's wrongs prevail. Sent |