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To a LADY very handsome, but too fond

of DRESS.

By the Same.

RYTHEE why so fantastick and vain !

What charms can the toilet supply?
Why so studious admirers to gain ?

Need beauty lay traps for the eye?
Because that thy breast is fo fair,

Muft thy tucker be still setting right?
And canst thou not laughing forbear,

Because that thy teeth are so white?

Shall sovereign beauty descend

To act so ignoble a part ?
Whole hours at the looking-glass spend,

A slave to the dictates of art!
And cannot thy heart be at rest

Unless thou excelleft each fair
In trinkets and trumpery dress'd ?

Is not that a superfluous care?

Vain, idle attempt! to pretend

The lilly with whiteness to deck! Does the rich solitaire recommend

T'he delicate turn of thy neck ?
The glossy bright hue of thy hair

Can powder or jewels adorn ?
Can perfumes or vermilions compare

With the breath or the blush of the morni

When, embarrass'd with baubles and toys,

Thou’rt set out so enormously fine, Over-doing thy purpose destroys,

And to please thou hast too much design: Little know'st thou, how beauty beguiles,

How alluring the innocent eye; What sweetness in natural smiles,

And what charms in fimplicity lye.

Thee Nature with beauty has clad,

With genuine ornaments dress’d;
Nor can Art an embellishment add

To set off what already is best :
Be it thine, self-accomplish'd to reign;

Bid the toilet be far set apart,
And dismiss with an honest disdain

That impertinent Abigail, Art.

ANACREON.

AN ACRE O N.

ODE

Translated by the Same.
N the dead of the night, when with labour opprefs'd

All mortals enjoy the calm blefling of reft,
Cupid knock'd at my door, I awoke with the noise,
And " who is it (I call's) that my sleep thus destroys ?

IN

". You need not be frighten'd, he answered mild,
“ Let mein; I'm a little unfortunate child;
". 'Tis a dark rainy night; and I'm wet to the skin ;
“ And my way I have lost; and do, pray, let me in."

I was mov'd with compasion; and striking a light,
I open'd the door; when a boy stood in fight,
Who had wings on his shoulders: the rain from him drippid,
With a bow and with arrows too he was equipp’d.

I ftirr'd up my fire, and close by its side
I set him down by me : with napkins I dried,
I chaf'd him all over, kept out the cold air,
And I wrung with my hands the wet out of his hair,

He from wet and from cold was no sooner at ease,
But taking his bow up, he said, " If you please
“ We will try it; I would by experiment know
“ If the wet hath not damag'd the string of my bow."

Forthwith

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Forthwith from his quiver an arrow he drew,
To the string he apply'd it, and twang

yew;
The arrow was gone ; in my bosom it center'd :
No sting of a hornet more sharp ever enter’d.

went the

Away skipp'd the urchin, as brikk as a bee, And laughing, “ I wish you much joy friend, quoth he: My bow is undamag'd, for true went the dart; “ But you will have trouble enough with your heart.”

An Imitation of HORACE, Ode II. Book III.

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Let him her envied praises tell,

And all his eloquence disclose
The fierce endeavours to repel,

And still the tumult of her foes.

Him early form'd, and season'd young

Subtle oppofers soon will fear,
And tremble at his artful tongue,

Like Parthians at the Roman spear.

Grim death, th' inevitable lot

Which fools and cowards strive to fly,
Is with a noble pleasure fought

By him who dares for truth to die.

With purest lustre of her own

Exalted Virtue eyer shines,
Nor as the vulgar smile or frown

Advances now and now declines.

A glorious and immortal prize,

She on her hardy fon beftows,
She shews him heaven, and bids him rise,

Tho' pain, and toil, and death oppose:
With lab’ring flight he wings th’ obstructed way,
Leaving both common souls and common clay.

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