"If through the garden's flowery tribes I stray, Where bloom the jasmines that could once allure, 'Hope not to find delight in us,' they say,

For we are spotless, Jessy; we are pure.'

"Ye flowers! that well reproach a nymph so frail,
Say, could ye with my virgin fame compare?
The brightest bud that scents the vernal gale
Was not so fragrant, and was not so fair.

"Now the grave old alarm the gentler young,
And all my fame's abhorr'd contagion flee;
Trembles each lip, and falters every tongue,
That bids the morn propitious smile on me.
"Thus for your sake I shun each human eye,
I bid the sweets of blooming youth adieu;
To die I languish, but I dread to die,

Lest my sad fate should nourish pangs for you. "Raise me from earth; the pains of want remove, And let me, silent, seek some friendly shore; There only, banish'd from the form I love, My weeping virtue shall relapse no more. "Be but my friend; I ask no dearer name;

Be such the meed of some more artful fair; Nor could it heal my peace or chase my shame, That Pity gave what Love refus'd to share. "Force not my tongue to ask its scanty bread, Nor hurl thy Jessy to the vulgar crew; Not such the parent's board at which I fed! Not such the precept from his lips I drew! "Haply, when age has silver'd o'er my hair, Malice may learn to scorn so mean a spoil; Envy may slight a face no longer fair,

And Pity welcome to my native soil."

'She spoke nor was I born of savage race; Nor could these hands a niggard boon assign, Grateful she clasp'd me in a last embrace,

And vow'd to waste her life in prayers for mine. 'I saw her foot the lofty bark ascend,

I saw her breast with every passion heave;
I left her-torn from every earthly friend;
Oh! my hard bosom! which could bear to leave!
'Brief let me be; the fatal storm arose ;

The billows rag'd, the pilot's art was vain;
O'er the tall mast the circling surges close;
My Jessy-floats upon the watery plain!
'And-see my youth's impetuous fires decay;
Seek not to stop Reflection's bitter tear;
But warn the frolic, and instruct the gay,
From Jessy floating on her watery bier!'

LEVITIES:

OR,
PIECES OF HUMOUR.

FLIRT AND PHIL:

A DECISION FOR THE LADIES.

A WIT, by learning well refin'd,
A beau, but of the rural kind,
To Silvia made pretences;
They both profess'd an equal love,
Yet hop'd by different means to move
Her judgment or her senses.

Young sprightly Flirt, of blooming mien,
Watch'd the best minutes to be seen,
Went-when his glass advis'd him;
While meagre Phil of books inquir'd,
A wight for wit and parts admir'd,
And witty ladies priz'd him.

Silvia had wit, had spirits too;
To hear the one, the other view,
Suspended held the scales:

Her wit, her youth, too, claim'd its share;
Let none the preference declare,

Bat turn up-heads or tails.

TO THE MEMORY OF AN AGREEABLE

LADY,

BURIED IN MARRIAGE

TO A PERSON UNDESERVING HER.

"Twas always held, and ever will By sage mankind, discreeter To' anticipate a lesser ill,

Than undergo a greater.

When mortals dread diseases, pain,
And languishing conditions;
Who don't the lesser ills sustain
Of physic-and physicians ?

Rather than lose his whole estate,
He that but little wise is,

Full gladly pays four parts in eight
To taxes and excises.

Our merchants Spain has near undone
For lost ships not requiting;
This bears our noble K-, to shun
The loss of blood-in fighting!

With numerous ills, in single life,
The bachelor's attended;
Such to avoid he takes a wife-

And much the case is mended!

Poor Gratia, in her twentieth year,
Foreseeing future woe,

Chose to attend a monkey here
Before an ape below.

COLEMIRA.

A CULINARY ECLOGUE.

Nec tantum Veneris, quantum studiosa culinæ.

Insensible of soft desire,

Behold Colemira prove

More partial to the kitchen fire
Than to the fire of Love.

NIGHT'S sable clouds had half the globe o'erspread,
And silence reign'd, and folks were gone to bed,
When love, which gentle sleep can ne'er inspire,
Had seated Damon by the kitchen fire.

Pensive he lay, extended on the ground,
The little Lares kept their vigils round;
The fawning cats compassionate his case,
And pur around, and gently lick his face:

To all his plaints the sleeping curs reply,
And with hoarse snorings imitate a sigh.
Such gloomy scenes with lovers' minds agree,
And solitude to them is best society.

'Could I,' he cried,' express how bright a grace
Adorns thy morning hands and well-wash'd face,
Thou wouldst, Colemira, grant what I implore,
And yield me love, or wash thy face no more.

Ah! who can see, and seeing not admire,
Whene'er she sets the pot upon the fire!
Her hands outshine the fire and redder things;
Her eyes are blacker than the pots she brings.