But let not this, dear CALIA, now

To rage thy breast incline;

For why, fince you forgot your vow,
Should I remember mine?

ТНЕ СНО І СЕ.

AD I, PYGMALION like, the pow'r

HAD

To make the Nymph I wou'd adore;
The model fhou'd be thus defign'd,
Like this her form, like this her mind.

Her fkin fhou'd be as lilies fair,
With rofy cheeks and jetty hair;
Her lips with pure vermilion spread;
And foft and moift, as well as red;
Her eyes fhou'd shine with vivid light,
At once both languishing and bright;
Her shape shou'd be exact and small,
Her ftature rather low than tall ;

Her limbs well turn'd, her air and mien
At once both sprightly and serene;
Befides all this, a nameless grace

Shou'd be diffus'd all o'er her face;
To make the lovely piece complete,
Not only beautiful, but sweet.

This for her form: now for her mind;

I'd have it open, gen'rous, kind,

Void of all coquettish arts,

And vain defigns of conquering hearts,

Not sway'd by any views of gain,

Nor fond of giving others pain;

But foft, tho' bright, like her own eyes,
Discreetly witty, gayly wise.

I'd have her skill'd in ev'ry art That can engage a wand'ring heart; Know all the sciences of love,

Yet ever willing to improve;

To prefs the hand, and roll the eye,
And drop fometimes an amorous figh ;

Το

I'd have her to ftrict honour ty❜d,
And yet without one spark of pride;
In company well dreft and fine,
Yet not ambitious to outshine;
In private always neat and clean,
And quite a stranger to the spleen;
Well-pleas'd to grace the park, and play,
And dance fometimes the night away,
But oft'ner fond to spend her hours
In folitude, and shady bow'rs,

And there, beneath some filent grove,
Delight in poetry, and love.

Some sparks of the poetic fire I fain would have her foul infpire, Enough, at least, to let her know

What joys from love and virtue flow;

Enough, at leaft, to make her wife,
And fops and fopperies defpife;

Prefer her books, and her own muse,
To vifits, fcandal, chat, and news;
Above her fex exalt her mind,

And make her more than woman-kind.

To

YOUNG LADY,

GOING TO THE WEST INDIES.

OR universal sway design'd

Fo

To diftant realms CLORINDA flies, And fcorns, in one fmall ifle confin'd,

To bound the conquefts of her eyes.

From our cold climes to INDIA's fhore
With cruel hafte she wings her way,
To scorch their fultry plains still more,

And rob us of our only day.

Whilft

Whilft ev'ry streaming eye o'erflows

With tender floods of parting tears, Thy breaft, dear caufe of all our woes, Alone unmov'd, and gay appears.

But ftill, if right the muses tell,

The fated point of time is nigh,

When grief fhall that fair bofom fwell,
And trickle from thy lovely eye.

Tho' now, like PHILIP's fon, whofe arms
Did once the vaffal world command,

You rove with unrefifted charms,

And conquer both by fea and land;

Yet when (as foon they must) mankind

Shall all be doom'd to wear your chain,

You too, like him, will weep to find

No more unconquer'd worlds remain.