That recompence from each, which shame
Forbids a bashful Muse to name:

Yet, more this sentence to discover,
"Tis what Bett **
grants her lover,
When he, to make the strumpet willing,
Has spent his fortune-to a shilling.
Each stood a while, as 'twere suspended,
And loth to do what-each intended.
At length, with soft pathetic sighs,
The matron, bent with age, replies:
"Tis vain to strive—justice, I know,
And our ill stars, will have it so-
But let my tears your wrath assuage,
And show some deference for age:
I from a distant village came,

Am old, G- knows, and something lame;
And if we yield, as yield we must,
Dispatch my crazy body first.'

Our shepherd, like the Phrygian swain, When circled round on Ida's plain With goddesses, he stood suspended, And Pallas's grave speech was ended, Own'd what she ask'd might be his duty, But paid the compliment to beauty.