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By Venus, Cupid, ev'ry pow'r,
To love propitious you're forswore,
Regardless of their wrath;

By tricks and cheats, and lies you live,
By breach of word and honour thrive,
Like my good Lord of Bath.

But at each broken oath and vow,
Indulgent Venus smiles you know,

Who have so often tried her;
And Cupid can't be angry sure,
While thus new vot'ries you procure,
And stretch his empire wider.

See all our youth confess thy pow'r,
They but behold thee and adore,
press to drag thy chain;
And tho' we swear, and brag we're free,
Repentant Darnley* longs like me,
To be thy slave again.

* Edward Bligh, second Earl of Darnley.-W.

That beauteous face, those heav'nly charms,
The cautious mother's breast alarms,
For her young darling son;
And each penurious father fears,
Lest their unthinking am'rous heirs,
Should gaze, and be undone,

Venus, whose charms rule all above,
Is fam'd for fickleness in love,

And for her beauty's pow'r ;
copy drawn with care,

You are her

Like her are exquisitely fair,

Like her a thorough w—.




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APOLLO of old on Britannia did smile,
And Delphi forsook for the sake of this isle,
Around him he lavishly scatter'd his lays,
And in every wilderness planted his bays;
Then Chaucer and Spenser harmonious were


Then Shakspeare, and Milton, and Waller appear'd,

And Dryden, whose brows by Apollo were crown'd,

As he sung in such strains as the God might have own'd:

But now, since the laurel is given of late,
To Cibber, to Eusden, to Shadwell and Tate,
Apollo hath quitted the isle he once lov'd,
And his harp and his bays to Hibernia remov'd;

He vows and he swears he'll inspire us no more, And hath put out Pope's fires which he kindled before;

And further, he says, men no longer shall boast A science their slight and ill-treatment hath lost;

But that women alone for the future shall write; And who can resist, when they doubly delight? And lest we should doubt what he said to be true, Has begun by inspiring Sapphira and You.

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WHEN home I return'd from the dancing last night,

And, elate by your praises, attempted to write, I familiarly call'd on Apollo for aid,

And told him how many fine things you had said.

He smil'd at my folly, and gave me to know, Your wit, and not mine, by your writings you show;

"And then," says the God, the God, "still to make you more vain,

"He hath promis'd that I shall enlighten your brain;

"When he knows in his heart, if he speak but his mind,

"That no woman alive can now boast I am kind:

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