Happiest of men, if here the wheel of fate
Would reft: but Ó how changeful is the die
Of human Happiness! How blind is man
To that which is to come! at random toft,
Like leaves in Autumn, fcatter'd to and fro,
The sport of Winds! Amid the road of life,
Unnumber'd ills in fecret ambush lurk
Unfeen, and rufh with fudden fally forth
On the poor wand'ring weary traveller,
In hour fufpected leaft. O wretched Sire,

There wretched moft, where moft thou deem'dft thee bleft!

Thou ween'ft alas how little! that e'er long

A day fhall come, a mournful day, when Thou,
Surviving what a poor fond Father held

In Cite moft precious, o'er thy EDWARD's tomb
Shall join the public moan, and pine away
Still comfortlefs, nor know a paufe from grief:
When Thou, juft on the extremeft edge of Life
Trembling, by fad experience fhall confefs,
How fond the Hopes of Happiness till Death,
How vain is human greatnefs, and impart
A moral leffon to the pride of Kings.

E.

IF

F CHLOE feek one verfe of mine
I call not on the tuneful Nine

With useless Invocation.

Enough for Me that She should ask ;
I fly with pleasure to the Tafk,
And Her's the Inspiration.

When Poets fung in antient Days,
The Mufes that inspir'd their Lays,

Of whem there fuch Parade is ; Their Deities, let Pride confefs, Were nothing more, and nothing lefs, Than earth-born mortal Ladies.

Did any Nymph her subject chuse ?
She ftrait commenc'd infpiring MUSE;
And every Maid, of lovely Face,
That ftruck the Heart of wounded Swain,
Exalted to yon ftarry Plain,

Was register'd a GRACE.

These were the Compliments of old,
While Nymphs, among the Gods enroll'd,
Claim'd Love's obfequious Duty;

Thus, while each Bard had favourite Views,
Each Nymph became a GRACE, or MUSE,
A VENUS every Beauty.

Say, in these later Days of ours,
When Love exerts his ufual Powers,
What difference lies between us?
In CHLOE's felf at once I boaft,
What Bards of every Age might toast,
A MUSE, A GRACE, a VENUS.

In CHLOE are a thoufand charms,
Though Envy call her fex to arms,

And giggling Girls may flout her,
The MUSE inhabits in her Mind,
A VENUS in her form we find,
The GRACES all about her.

R.

Το

ALL hail! majestic Queen of Night,

Bright Cynthia! sweetest Nymph, whose presence brings
The penfive pleasures, calm delight,
While Contemplation fmooths her ruffled wings,
Which Folly's vain tumultuous joys,

Or business, care, and buzz of lufty day

Have all too ruffled. Hence, away

Stale Jeft, and flippant Mirth, and Strife-engend'ring
Noife,

When Evening dons her mantle grey,
I'll wind my folitary way,

And hie me to fome lonely grove
(The haunt of Fancy and of Love)
Whose social branches, far outfpread,
Poffefs the mind with pleafing dread.
While Cynthia quivers thro' the trees
That wanton with the fummer breeze,
And the clear brook, or dimpl'd stream,
Reflects oblique her dancing beam.
How often, by thy filver light,

Have Lovers tongues beguil'd the Night?
When forth the happy pair have ftray'd,
The amorous fwain and tender maid,
And as they walk'd the groves along,
Cheer'd the ftill Eve with various fong.
While ev'ry Artful strain confest
The mutual Paffion in their breaft.

To lovers hours fly swift away,
And Night reluctant yields to Day.

Thrice happy Nymph, thrice happy Youth, When Beauty is the meed of Truth !

I 2

Yet

Yet not the happy Loves alone,
Has thy celeftial presence known.
To thee complains the Nymph forlorn,
Of broken faith, and Vows forsworn;
And the dull Swain, with folded Arms,
Still mufing on his false one's charms,
Frames many a fonnet to her name,
(As Lovers ufe to exprefs their flame)
Or pining wan with thoughtful care,
In downcaft filence feeds Defpair;
Or when the Air dead ftillness keeps,
And Cynthia on the water fleeps ;
Charms the dull ear of fober night,
With loveborn Mufic's fweet delight.

Oft as thy Orb perform its round,
Thou lift'neft to the various found
Of Shepherds hopes and Maidens fears
(Those conscious Cynthia filent hears
While Echo which ftill loves to mock,
Bears them about from Rock to Rock.)

But fhift we now the penfive Scene,
Where Cynthia filvers o'er the green.
Mark yonder Spot, whofe equal rim
Forms the green circle quaint and trim ;
Hither the Fairies blith advante,
And lightly trip in mazy dance;
Beating the panfic-paven ground
In frolic meafures round and round;
Thefe Cynthia's Revels gayly keep,
While lazy mortals fnore afleep;
Whom oft they vifit in the night,
Not vifible to human fight;
And as old prattling Wives relate,
Though now the fashion's out of date,
Drop fixpence in the Housewife's fhoe,
And pinch the Slattern black and blue.

They

They fill the mind with airy fehemes,

And bring the Ladies pleasant dreams.

Who knows not Mab, whose chariot glides,
And athwart men's nofes rides ?
While OBERON, blith Fairy, trips,
And hovers o'er the Ladies Lips;
And when he steals ambrofial blifs,
And foft imprints the charming Kiss,
In Dreams the Nymph her fwain pursues,
Nor thinks 'tis OBERON that woes.

Ye fportive Youth, and lovely Fair,
From hence, my Leffon read, beware,
While Innocence and Mirth prefide,
We care not where the Fairies glide;
And OBERON will never miss
To greet his fav'rites with a Kifs;
Nor ever more Ambrofia fips,
Than when he vifits's Lips:

When all things elfe in filence fleep,
The blithfome Elfs their vigils keep;
And always hover round about,
To find our worth or frailties out.
Receive with joy these Elfin sparks,
Their Kiffes leave no tell-tale Marks,
But breathe fresh beauty o'er the face,
Where all is Virtue, all is grace.

Not only elfin Frays delight
To hail the fober Queen of Night,

But that sweet Bird, whofe gurgling Throat
Warbles the thick melodious note,
Duly as Evening Shades prevail,
Renews her foothing love-born tale.
And as the Lover penfive goes,
Chaunts out her fymphony of Woes.

Which