Her voice, not thy cestus, O Goddess of pleasure,
Can so melt with desire or with ecstasy burn;
Her kindness unbounded she gives without measure
To her languishing lover, and asks no return.
Such a girl is my Helen-then never, ah never,
Let my amorous heart, mighty Venus, forget her ;
Oh, grant me to keep my sweet mistress for ever,
-For ever—at least, till you send me a better.
THE man who first laid down the pedant rule
That love is folly, was himself the fool;
For if to life that transport you deny,
What privilege is left us-but to die?
LET Rufus weep, rejoice, stand, sit, or walk ;—
Still he can nothing but of Nævia talk :-
Let him eat, drink, ask questions, or dispute;
Still he must talk of Navia, or be mute.
He wrote to his father ending with this line :
'I am, my lovely Navia! ever thine.'
WHEN Arria from her wounded side
To Pætus gave the reeking steel,
'I feel not what I've done,' she cried;
'What Pætus is to do I feel.'-Dr Hoadley.
COME, Chloe, and give me sweet kisses,
For sweeter sure girl never gave ;
But why, in the midst of my blisses,
Do you ask me how many I'd have?
I am not to be stinted in pleasure,
Then, prithee, my charmer, be kind ;
For, while I love thee above measure,
To numbers I'll ne'er be confined.
Count the bees that on Hybla are playing;
Count the flowers that enamel its fields;
Count the flocks that on Tempe are straying;
Or the grain that rich Sicily yields.
Go number the stars in the heaven;
Count how many sands on the shore:
When so many kisses you've given,
I still shall be craving for more.
To a heart full of love let me hold thee,
To a heart which, dear Chloe, is thine;
With my arms I'll for ever enfold thee,
And twist round thy form like a vine.
What joy can be greater than this is?
My life on thy lips shall be spent ;
But the wretch that can number his kisses,
With few will be ever content.
From Ausonius.
VENUS, take my votive glass!
Since I am not what I was;
What from this day I shall be,
Venus, let me never see!-Prior.
ON A LADY WITH FINE EYES AND A BAD VOICE.
LUCETTA'S charms our hearts surprise,
At once, with love and wonder:
She bears Jove's lightning in her eyes.
But in her voice his thunder.
CELIA ALTOGETHER.
YES, I'm in love, I feel it now,
And Calia has undone me;
And yet I'll swear I can't tell how
The pleasing plague stole on me.
'Tis not her face that love creates,
For there no graces revel:
'Tis not her shape, for there the fates
Have rather been uncivil.
'Tis not her air, for sure in that
There's nothing more than common:
And all her sense is only chat,
Like any other woman.
Her voice, her touch, might give th' alarm,—
'Twas both perhaps-or neither:
In short, 'twas that provoking charm
Of Cælia altogether.- Whitehead.
Supposed to be written in 1767.
I GAVE, 'twas but the other day,
Phillis a ticket for the play-
'Tis love such tricks imparts-
When, holding up the card to me,
She laughing said, 'Your emblem see!'
And showed the knave of hearts.
Amazed, I cried, 'What means my fair?
Colin will neither steal nor swear;
Your words I pray define.'
She smiled and said, 'Nay, never start,
He's sure a knave that steals a heart;
And, Colin, you have mine.'--Punch.
'A TEMPLE to Friendship,' said Laura, enchanted,
'I'll build in this garden-the thought is divine!'
Her temple was built, and she now only wanted
An image of Friendship, to place on the shrine.
She flew to the sculptor, who set down before her
A Friendship, the fairest his art could invent
But so cold and so dull, that the youthful adorer
Saw plainly this was not the Friendship she meant.
Oh never,' she cried, 'can I think of enshrining An image whose looks are so joyless and dim: But yon little god, upon roses reclining,
We'll make, if you please, sir, a Friendship of him.' So the bargain was struck; with the little god laden, She joyfully flew to her shrine in the grove: Farewell,' said the sculptor, 'you're not the first maiden Who came but for Friendship, and took away Love.'
ADVANCED in years, the goddess Venus
Sought in a holy cloister rest,
Bequeathing, dearest maid, between us
All that her goddesship possess'd,
Of an executor the duty
She trusted to her eldest son;
But he, sad rogue! seduced by beauty,
Injustice to my right has done.
Unfairly he the Cyprian treasures
Allotted to his mother's heirs;
To you he gave the smiles and pleasures,
To me he left the tears and cares.
AH! tell me no more, my dear girl, with a sigh,
That a coldness will creep o'er my heart;
That a sullen indifference will dwell on my eye
When thy beauty begins to depart.
Shall thy graces, O Cynthia! that gladden my day,
And brighten the gloom of the night,
Till life be extinguish'd, from memory stray,
Which it ought to review with delight?
Upbraiding, shall gratitude say, with a tear,
'That no longer I think of those charms
Which gave to my bosom such rapture sincere,
And faded at length in my arms?'
Why, yes! it may happen, thou damsel divine:
To be honest-I freely declare,
That even now to thy converse so much I incline
I've already forgot thou art fair.
As charm'd I view these rills, and groves, and fields,
Thy form, my fair, I near me seem to see!
While nature to the sight her beauties yields,
How can I then forbear to think on thee?
From Marquis de Pezac.
BY thee, on the sand of this shore,
Our cyphers in union were traced;
But the fugitive billows roll'd o'er,
And the writing was quickly effaced.
Yet this emblem of love, though so frail
That the water soon swept it away,
Not so soon, O thou false one, did fail
As the passion 'twas meant to display.
HERRICK, ON HIS GREY HAIRS.
FLY me not, though I be grey;
Lady, this I know you'll say,
Better look the roses red
When with white commingled.
Black your hairs are, mine are white;
This begets the more delight
When things meet most opposite;
As in pictures we descry
Venus standing Vulcan by.
DEAR Chloe, well I know the swain
Who gladly would embrace thy chain,
And who, alas! can blame him?
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