To the Hon. Mifs Y OR KE,

ON HER MARRIAGE TO LORD ANSON.

ICTORIOUS ANSON fee returns

VICT

From the subjected main !

With joy each British bosom burns,

Fearless of FRANCE and SPAIN.

Honours his grateful Sovereign's hand,
Conqueft his own bestows,

Applause unfeign'd his native land,
Unenvy'd wealth her foes.

But ftill, my fon, BRITANNIA cries,
Still more thy merits claim;

Thy deeds deferve a richer prize
Than titles, wealth, or fame.

Twice wafted fafe from pole to pole

Th' haft fail'd the globe around; Contains it ought can charm thy foul,

Thy fondest wishes bound?

Is there a treasure worth thy care

Within th' incircling line?

Say, and I'll weary Heav'n with pray'r
To make that treasure thine.

Heav'n liften'd to BRITANNIA's voice,
Agreed that more was due :

He chofe-the gods approv'd his choice,
And paid him all in You.

CHLOE TO STREPHON,

A SON G.

100 plain, dear youth, thefe tell-tale eyes
My heart your own declare;

But for Heav'n's fake let it fuffice

You reign triumphant there.

Forbear your utmost pow'r to try,

Nor farther urge your sway;

Press not for what I must deny,

For fear I fhould obey.

5

Could

Could all your arts fuccessful prove,
Would you a maid undo?

Whose greatest failing is her love,
And that her love for you.

Say, would you use that very pow'r
You from her fondnefs claim,

To ruin, in one fatal hour,

A life of spotless fame ?

Ah! cease, my dear, to do an ill,

Because perhaps you may;

But rather try your utmost skill
To save me, than betray.

Be you yourself my virtue's guard,
Defend, and not pursue ;

Since 'tis a task for me too hard

To fight with love and you.

A SONG.

A SO N G.

EASE, SALLY, thy charms to expand,

CEA

All thy arts and thy witchcraft forbear, Hide those eyes, hide that neck and that hand, And those sweet flowing treffes of hair.

Oh! torture me not, for Love's fake,

With the fmirk of those delicate lips,

With that head's dear fignificant shake,
And the tofs of the hoop and the hips.

Oh! fight ftill more fatal! look there

O'er her tucker what murderers peep! So-now there's an end of my care,

I fhall never more eat, drink, or fleep.

D'you fing too? ah mischievous thought!

Touch me, touch me not there any morę ;

Who the devil can 'fcape being caught

In a trap that's thus baited all o'er?
VOL. I.
L

But

But why to advise fhou'd I try?

What nature ordains we must prove ; You no more can help charming, than I Can help being charm'd, and in love.

A

SON G.

HEN firft I fought fair CÆLIA's love,

WHE

And ev'ry charm was new,

I fwore by all the gods above

To be for ever true.

But long in vain did I adore,

Long wept and figh’d in vain, She ftill protefted, vow'd, and swore, She ne'er would eafe my pain.

At laft o'ercome fhe made me bleft,

And yielded all her charms; And I forfook her, when poffeft,

And fled to others' arms.

But