Nor would I thus the task give o'er; Curious new fecrets to explore, I'd never reft till I had found Which globe was fofteft, which most round- Which was the warmeft, eafieft bed, And which was tip'd with pureft red. To find where it at laft wou'd end; But ah! those wishes all are vain, O fortem nimis afperam atque iniquam ! Tantillum illa negat mihi petenti, Tantillum illa negat mihi scienti; Quæ tantum huic tribuit nec id petenti, Quæ tantum huic tribuit nec id fcienti. Too cruel fate, too cruel Fair, To taste one dear transporting kiss. A N EPISTLE, Written in the COUNTRY, то THE Right Hon. the Lord LOVELACE* then in Town. SEPTEMBER, 1735. N days, my Lord, when mother Time, IN Tho' now grown old, was in her prime, When SATURN first began to rule, How free from wickedness and ftrife! *Nevil Lord Lovelace was one of those with whom the author made a friendship on his firft coming into the world, uninterrupted till his death, which happened at an early period of his life.-There appear ftrong marks of his affection for him, in fome letters wrote to his lordship's fifter, the late Lady Harry Beauclerc, now in the poffeffion of her descendants.-He was a man of letters, a friend to the Muses, and highly fashioned according to the breeding of those days. Then Then each man liv'd upon his farm, And thought and did no mortal harm ; As harmless as the flocks they kept; And nymphs were chafte, and swains were true. Thefe, |