XI.

And now we've told you all our loves
And likewife all our fears;
In hopes this declaration moves
Some pity from your tears;
Let's hear of no inconftancy,

We have too much of that at fea.
With a fa, la, la, la, la.

On the Countefs of DORCHESTER,
Mistress to King JAMES the Second, 1680.

*I.

ELL me, Dorinda, why fo gay,

TEL

Can

Why fuch embroidery, fringe, and lace?
any dreffes find a way,

To ftop th' approaches of decay,

And mend a ruin'd face?

II.

Wilt thou ftill sparkle in the box,

Still ogle in the ring?

Canft thou forget thy age and pox?
Can all that fhines on fhells and rocks
Make thee a fine young thing?

III.

So have I feen in larder dark!

Of veal a lucid loin;

Replete with many a brilliant spark,
As wife philofophers remark,

At once both ftink and fhine.

ON

ON THE SAME.

I.

ROUD with the fpoils of royal cully,
With falfe pretence to wit and parts,
She swaggers like a batter'd bully,
To try the tempers of mens hearts.

II.

Though the appear as glittering fine,

As gems, and jetts, and paint, can make her; She ne'er can win a breaft like mine;

The devil and Sir David * take her.

K

NOTTIN

AT noon, in a funfhiny day,

The brighter lady of the May,
Young Chloris innocent and gay,
Sat knotting in a shade:

Each flender finger play'd its part,
With such activity and art,

As would inflame a youthful heart,

And warm the most decay'd.

Her favourite fwain, by chance, came by,

He faw no anger in her eye;

Yet when the bashful boy drew nigh,

She would have feem'd afraid.

G.

* Sir David Colyear, late Earl of Portmore.

She let her ivory needle fall,

And hurl'd away the twisted ball:
But straight gave Strephon fuch a call,
As would have rais'd the dead.

Dear gentle youth, is 't none but thee?
With innocence I dare be free;

By fo much truth and modesty
No nymph was e'er betray'd.

Come lean thy head upon my lap ;
While thy fmooth cheeks I ftroke and clap,
Thou may'st securely take a nap;

Which he, poor fool, obey'd.

She faw him yawn, and heard him fnore,
And found him faft afleep all o'er.

She figh'd, and could endure no more,
But starting up, she said,

Such virtue fhall rewarded be:
For this thy dull fidelity,

I'll truft you with my flocks, not me,
Purfue thy grazing trade;

Go, milk thy goats, and fhear thy sheep,
And watch all night thy flocks to keep;
Thou shalt no more be lull'd asleep

By me miftaken maid.

THE

THE ANTIQUATED COQUET,

A Satire on a Lady of Ireland*.

HYLLIS, if you will not agree,

P To give me back my liberty a

chain.

In spite of you, I must regain
My lofs of time, and break your
You were mistaken, if you thought
I was fo grossly to be caught;
Or that I was fo blindly bred,
As not to be in woman read.
Perhaps you took me for a fool,
Defign'd alone your
fex's tool;

Nay, you might think so mad a thing, : That, with a little fashioning,

I might in time, for your dear fake,
That monfter call'd a husband make :
Perhaps I might, had I not found,
One darling vice in you abound;
A vice to me, which e'er will prove,
An antidote to banish love.

O! I could better bear an old,
Ugly, difeas'd, mif-fhapen fcold,
Or one who games, or will be drunk,
A fool, a spendthrift, bawd, or punk,
Than one at all who wildly flies,
And, with foft, asking, giving eyes,

*Supposed to be of the name of Clanbrazil.

And

And thousand other wanton arts,

So meanly trades in begging hearts.

How might fuch wondrous charms perplex,

Give chains, or death, to all our fex,

Did fhe not fo unwifely fet,

For every fluttering fool her net!

So poorly proud of vulgar praife,
Her very look her thoughts betrays;
She never ftays till we begin,
But beckons us herself to fin.

Ere we can afk, fhe cries confent,

So quick her yielding looks are fent,

They hope foreftal, and ev'n defire prevent.
But Nature's turn'd when women woo,

We hate in them what we should do ;
Defire 's afleep, and cannot wake,
When women fuch advances make :
Both time and charms thus Phyllis wastes,
Since each must surfeit ere he tastes.
Nothing efcapes her wandering eyes,
No one the thinks too mean a prize;
Ev'n Lynch, the lag of human kind,
Nearest to brutes by God defign'd,
May boaft the fmiles of this coquet,
As much as any man of wit.

The figns hang thinner in the Strand,
The Dutch fcarce more infeft the land,
Though Egypt's locufts they outvie,
In number and voracity.

*A notorious debauchce.

Whores