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Ode to Venus, from her Votaries of the Street.
RE these thy palms ? oh queen of love !
Pity thy wretched votaries! From above,
Behold them stroll, their bosoms bare,
Chill'd with the blasts of rude St. Clement's air;
And twitch the sleeve with sly advance :
Roll the bright eye, or shoot the side-long glance :
Whilst the chaste moon, with envious light
Peeps thro' the curtain of the freezing night.
Not thus when Horace hymn’d thy praise,
You heard the Glyceras of happier days.
Oh goddess of love's pleasing pain !
From thy own isle avert the frost, and rain;
Nor let the little mouth inhale,
(Bane to the teeth) a rough, unfriendly gale;
Or slender ancle white, and neat,
Betray a splash from the polluted street.
Look down with pity on the woes,
That trace our footsteps, and our haunts enclose.
For thee, we forfeit fair renown,
Brave want and danger, orphans of the town ; ! Vol. V.
For thee, sustain the cruel shock
Of caustic Franks, and cicatrizing Rock:
Happy ! if Hermes' timely care,
The searching deity of here and there,
Can soften the venereal doom,
And keep awhile pale beauty from the tomb.
Bat languid! lifeless ! cold, and bare,
Gone ev'ry tooth, and fallen ev'ry hair,
A prey to grief, remorse, disease,
Ah! Paphian Venus, faithless as the feas!
Fir'd by thy spells, and magic charms,
We guiltless virgins glow'd at foft alarms.
Embark'd with youth, and airy smiles,
The graces, playful loves and wanton wiles;
On pleasure's wave we loos'd the fails,
Alas ! too credulous of flatt'ring gales ;
For lo! the heav'ns with clouds are spread,
The graces, loves, with youth are fled,
And leave the ship, an easy prize,
Unrigg'd and leaky to th' inclement kies.
I felt no censure, and I gain’d no fame: The public saw the bastard in the cradle, But ne'er enquir’d; so left it to the beadle.
A certain nobleman takes up the child,
The real father lay perdue, and smila.
The public now enlarges every grace,
What shining eyes it has ! how fair a face !
Of parts what fymmetry! what strength divine !
The noble brat is sure of Pelops' line.
By Dr. H.
HE glow-worm scribblers of a feeble age,
Pale twinklers of an hour provoke my rage:
In each dark hedge we start an insect fire,
Which lives by night, and must at dawn expire ;
Yet such their number that their specks combine,
And the unthinking vulgar swear they shine.
Poets are prodigies fo greatly rare,
They seem the tasks of heav'n, and built with care:
Like suns, unquench’d, unrivald and sublime,
They roll, immortal, o'er the wastes of time:
Ages in vain close round and snatch in fame ;
High over all still shines the Poet's name !
Lords of a life that fcorns the bounds of breath,
They stretch existence and defy stern death.
Glory and shame are theirs.--they plant renown,
Or shade the Monarch's by the Muse's crown:
To say Augustus reign'd when Virgil fhin'd,
Does honour to the lord of half mankind.
So when three thousand years
have wan'd away,
And Pope is said t' have liv'd when George bore sway,
Millions shall lend the King the Poet's fame,
And bless implicit the supported name.
To POLLY LAURENCE, quitting the Pump.
PITE of beauty, air, and grace,
With honour haft thou run thy race !
In fun hine well thy part thou'st play'd
Now, sweet Polly, seek the shade.
The prudent general, tho' beat,
Reaps honour from a good retreat ;
But nobler thou, thy thousands kill'd,
With flying colours leav's the field.
Let not retirement give the spleen,
Thy sex's longing to be seen :
But teach the vicious and the vain,
Their pleasure's but refining pain.
Teach the gay by thy retreat,
Eternal giggle is not wit;
And the formal fool advise,
Prudery cannot make her wise.
Take with thee to thy private state
Th' applauses of the good and great ;
The best reward below allow'd
Of a conduct great and good.
ODE, to a LADY in LONDON.
HILE soft through water earth, and air
The vernal spirits rove,
From noise, my dear, and giddy crowds
To rural scenes remove.
The mountain snows are all diffolv’d,
And hush'd the bluft'ring gale,
While fragrant Zephyrs gently breathe
Along the flowery vale.
The circling planets constant rounds
The wintry wastes repair,
And still from temporary death
Renew the verdant year.
But ah! when once our transient bloom,
The spring of life, is o'er,
That rofy season takes its flight,
And must return no more.
Yet judge by Reason's sober rules,
From false Opinion free,
And mark how little pilfering years
Can steal from you or me.
Each moral pleasure of the heart,
Each smiling charm of truth,
Depends not on the giddy bud
Of wild fantastic youth.