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Hink not, the fair deceiv'd by poet's lays,

Cupid in Noth in glorious melts his days; Think not enchain'd on Chloe's breast he lies, Or bathes himself in Delia's languid eyes ; Now here, now there, the wanton wanderer roves, O’er Belgia's waters, or Italia's groves; Now soothes the hearts of Gallia's filken swains, Now fires the tawny youth on Java's plains. As o'er luxurious China's fields he fails, Upborn by lovers fighs, and balmy gales, Deep in the bosom of a fragrant glade, Where pines flow-moving form'd a dancing shade, Where Zephyr stole the rose's rich perfume, And wakeful almonds shook their snowy bloom, Crown'd with rough thickets rose a moss-grown cave, Whose tinkling fides pour down a sparkling wave Unwilling to desert its native groves, The ling'ring stream in flow'ry lab'rinths roves ; The god of love feeds his insatiate fight, Slow wave his loose wings, and retard his flight.

But say, what soft confusion seiz'd thy brealt, What heaving fighs thy instant flame confeft, When Thea broke from Morpheus' dewey arms, Rose from the grot, and blaz’d in all her charms? Its swelling orb no hoop enormous spread, Like magic sphere to guard the tim'rous maid; No torturing stays the yielding waist confind, A bliss for lovers arms alone design'd; Her hair, by no malicious art repressid, Play'd in the wind, and wanton'd o'er her breast. Jove grew a swan to press the Spartan fair, What form to taste those charms would Cupid wear ?

Quick thro' the founding grove the god descends, Quick at her feet a fighing fappliant bends. Can youth be deaf when Syren passion sues ? Or how can beauty fly, when love pursues ?


No more he seeks the Cyprian's smoaking fanes,
Or fips rich nectar in celestial plains ;
In Thea's heart a flame more pleasing glows,
And from her lips more luscious nectar flows.
Venus indignant saw her power decay,
And rush'd

impetuous through the realms of day : Thus doft thou guard thy once lov'd parent's throne ? Shall then the rebel-power my power disown? See ! where the fatal cause of my disgraced (Each hateful beauty glowing in her face) Însulting stands! There let her fixt remain, Nor be the anger of a goddess vain.

To kneel to fue lhe itrove, unhappy maid !
In vain, her stiffening knees refuse their aid :
Her arms she lifts with pain, in wild surprize
She starts to see a verdant branch arise :
O love ! she try'd to say, thy Thea ajd,
Her ruddy lips the envious leaves invade :
Yet then, just finking from his tortur'd view,
Her swimming eyes languilh'd a last adieu.
Venus triumphant, with a scornful smile,
Points to the tree, and seeks the Cyprian ille.
He mark'd the goddess with indignant eyes,
And grief and rage, alternate tyrants, rise.

Then fighing o'er the vegetable fair,
Yet still, he said, thou claim'it thy Cupid's care!
Her arts no more shall Cytherea prove,
But own my Thea aids the cause of love.
To the free ifle, I'll give thy rites divine,
To nymphs, whose charms alone can equal thine.
For thee the toiling fons of Ind' fhall drain
The honey'd sponge, which swells the leafy cane
The gentle Naiads to thy shrine shall bring
The limpid treasures of the crystal spring;
Thy verdant bloom shall stain the glowing stream,
Diffusing fragrance in the quivering steam;
Around thy painted altars' brittle pride,
Shall dimpled smiles, and seek-brow'd health preside ;
Whilft white-rob’d nymphs display each milder grace,
The morning dream just glowing on each face.
With joy I see, in ages yet unborn,

and W Thy votarists the British isle adorn.de

150 With joy I see enamour'd youths despise The goblet's lustre for the

fair one's eyes : Till rofy Bacchus shall his wreaths resign, And Love and Thea triumph o'er the vine.

12L 1.630 yrs burtus

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On a report of the king of Spain's marrying Madame Victoire, a princess of

France. :

HO'Frenchmen may promise him Madame Victoire,

He'll find it a trick and a cheat,
An union with France, upon this or that score,

Will wed him to Madame Defeas.


The following epigram was made by a Heffan officer upon Marshal Broglio's

being so near taken on the 10th of July, 1761, recomoitring, and losing bis fpiyng-glass, which Prince Ferdinand immediately returned. The affair of the 16th of the fame month at Fellinghausen is well knotun

Le Maréchal de Broglio, dit la Gazette,

Ce fameux héros, favori des cieux,
Le dixieme perdit ses lunettes,
Et le feizieme les yeux,

95% 91 9. & 109
In the Gagette we're dold"ly

That Broglio the bold,
His speciacles tot by surprizes

But when to our cofio 10!

Fellinghausen was lofty
"I was found that he wanted his eyesa's

**19 lor

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Advice from a Marron to a young Lady concerning wedlock.
RE you read this, then you'll fuppofe,

That some new lifted lover,
Thro' means of poetry hath chofe ?

His passion to discover.'
No, fair one, I'm a matrón grave,

Whom time and care hath wasted, 1
Who would thy youth from forrow fave, MT

Which I in wedlock* tasted.
Thy tender air, thy chearful mein,

Thy temper fo alluring,
Thy form for conquest welt design'd,? 21.17

Givęs torments past enduring
And lovers, full of hopes and fears, 1 .
Surround thy beauties daily,




Whilst yet, regardless of thy cares,

Thy moments pass on gayly,
Then pass them, charmer, gaylier on,

A maiden whilft you tarry ;
For, troth, your golden days are gone,

The moment that you marry.
In courtship we are all divine,
And vows and prayers

ensnare us;
Darts, flames, and tears adorn our shrines,

And artfully men woo us.
Then who'd the darling power forego,

Which ignorance has given ;
To eafe them of eternal woe

Muft we resign our heav'n?
No, marriage lets the vizard fall,

Then cease they to adore us :
The goddess sinks to housewife Moll,

And they reign tyrants o'er us.
Then let no man impression make

Upon thy heart so tender,
Or play the fool for pity's fake,

Thy quiet to surrender.
Lead apes in hell ! there's no such thing,

Thole tales are made to fool us,
Though there we had better hold a string,

Than here let monkies rule us.

The appla se befoued on the Rofciad, will, we imagine, render the follorca

ing extracts from it agreeable. They are fuch, we presume, as Iberw that the author unites the judgment of a critic with the fire and fancy of a poct,

Charafier of Mrs. Cibber.

ORM'D for the tragic scene, ta grace

the ,
With rival excelence of love and rage,
Mistress of each 10ft heart, with matchless skill,
To turn and wind the passions as she will;
To melt the heart with sympathetic woe,
Awake the ligh, and teach the tear to flow;
To put on frenzy's wild distracted' glare,
And frecze the food with horror and defpair;
With juit desert enrolld in endless fame,
Conscious of worth fuperior, C-bb-r came.

When poor Alicia's madding brains are rack'd,
And strongly imag'd griets her mind distract į



Struck with her grief, I catch the madness too!
My brain turns round, the headlefs trunk I view !
The roof cracks, fhakes, and falls ! New horrors rise,
And reason buried in the ruin lies,

Nobly disdainful of each slavish art,
She makes her first attack upon the heart :
Pleas'd with the summons, it receives her laws,
And all is filence, fympathy, applause.

But when, by fond ambition drawn afide,
Giddy with praise, and puff'd with female pride,
She quits che tragic scene, and, in pretence
To comic merit, breaks down nature's fence ;
I scarcely can believe my ears or eyes,
Or find out C-bb-r through the dark disguise.

Mrs. Pritchard from the same.

RITCHARD, by nature for the stage design'd,

In person graceful, and in sense refin'd;
Her art as much as nature's friend became,
Her voice as free from blemiffi as her fame.
Who knows fo well in majesty to please,
Attemper'd with the graceful charms of ease ?

When Congreve's favour'd pantomime to grace,
She comes a captive queen of Moorish race ;
When love, hate, jealousy, despair and rage,
With wildeft tamults in her breast engage;
Still equal to herself is Zara seen;
Her paffions are the passions of a queen.

When she to murther whets the tim'rous thane,
I feel ambition rush through ev'ry vein ;
Persuafion hangs upon her daring tongue,
My heart grows Aint, and ev'ry nerve's new ftrung.

In comedy—“Nay, there," cries critic, hold,
Pritchard's for comedy too fat and old.
Who can, with patience, bear the grey coquette,
Or force a laugh with over-grown Julett ?
Her speech, look, action, humour, all are just,
But then her age and figure give disgust.'

Are foibles then, and graces of the mind,
In real life, to size or age confin'd ?
Do spirits flow, and is good-breeding placed
In any set circumference of waist ?
As we grow old, doth affectation cease,
Or gives not age new vigour to caprice ?
If in originals

these things appear,
Why should we bar them in the copy here?


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