Rather than lose his whole eftate,
He that but little wife is,

Full gladly pays four parts in eight

To taxes and excifes.

With numerous ills in fingle life
The batchelor's attended;

Such to avoid, he takes a wife-
And much the cafe is mended.

Poor Gratia, in her twentieth year,

Foreseeing future woe, Chofe to attend a monkey here, Before an ape below.

An

AN

E L E G Y,

Written on VALENTINE Morning.

HAR

By

ARK, through the facred filence of the night, Loud Chanticleer doth found his clarion fhrill, Hailing with fong the first pale gleam of light,

That floats the dark brow of yon eastern hill.

Bright star of morn, oh! leave not yet the wave,
To deck the dewy frontlet of the day,
Nor thou, Aurora, quit Tithonus' cave,
Nor drive retiring darkness yet away,

Ere these my ruftic hands a garland twine,
Ere yet my tongue indite a simple song,
For her I mean to hail my Valentine,

Sweet maiden, fairest of the virgin throng.

Sweet

Sweet is the morn, and fweet the gentle breeze
That fans the fragrant bofom of the spring,
Sweet chirps the lark, and fweeter far than these
The gentle love-fong gurgling turtles fing.

Oh let the flowers be fragrant as the morn,
And as the turtle's fong my ditty sweet:
Those flowers my woven chaplet must adorn,
That ditty must my waking charmer greet.

And thou, bleft faint, whom choral creatures join
In one enlivening fymphony to hail,

Oh be propitious, gentle Valentine,
And let each holy tender figh prevail.

Oh give me to approach my sleeping love,

And strew her pillow with the freshest flowers,

No figh unhallow'd shall my bofom move,

Nor step prophane pollute my true-love's bowers.

Nor bid my unreproved eye refrain,

Mean while my tongue shall chaunt her beauty's praise,

And hail her sleeping with the gentlest strain.

VOL. VI.

R

"Awake

"Awake my fair, awake, for it is time; Hark, thousand songsters rife from yonder grove, And rifing carol this sweet hour of prime,

Each to his mate, a roundelay of love.

All nature fings the hymeneal fong,

All nature follows, where the spring invites ; Come forth my love, to us thefe joys belong, Ours is the spring, and all her young delights.

For us fhe throws profufely forth her flowers,
Which in fresh chaplets joyful I will twine;
Come forth my fair, oh do not lose these hours,
But wake, and be my faithful Valentine.

Full many an hour, all lonely have I figh❜d,
Nor dared the fecret of my love reveal,
Full many a fond expedient have I tried
My warmeft wifh in filence to conceal.

And oft to far retired folitude

All mournfully my flow ftep have I bent, Luxurious there indulg'd my mufing mood, And there alone have given my forrows vent.

This day refolv'd I dare to plight my vow,
This day, long fince the feast of love decreed,
Embolden'd will I speak my flame, nor thou
Refuse to hear how fore my heart does bleed."

Yet if I fhould behold my love awake,
Ah frail refolves, ah whither will ye fly?
Full well I know I fhall not filence break,
But ftruck with awe almoft for fear fhall die.

Oh no, I will not truft a fault'ring speech
In broken phrase an aukward tale to tell,
A tale, whose tenderness no tongue can reach,
Nor fofteft melody can utter well.

But my meek eye, best herald to my heart,
I will compofe to foft and downcaft look,
And at one humble glance it shall impart
My love, nor fear the language be miftook.

For fhe fhall read (apt scholar at this lore)

With what fond paffion my true bofom glows, How hopeless of return I still adore,

Nor dare the boldness of my wish disclose.