I lately vow'd, but 'twas in haste, That I no more would court The joys that seem when they are past As dull as they are short.

I oft to hate my mistress swear, But soon my weakness find; I make my oaths when she's severe, But break them when she's kind.

John Oldmixon.

FEW HAPPY MATCHES.

Say, mighty Love, and teach my song To whom thy sweetest joys belong, And who the happy pairs Whose yielding hearts, and joining hands, Find blessings twisted with their bands To soften all their cares.

Two kindest souls alone must meet, 'Tis friendship makes the bondage sweet, And feeds their mutual loves: Bright Venus on her rolling throne Is drawn by gentlest birds alone, And Cupids yoke the doves.

Dr. Isaac Watts.

DORINDA'S CONQUEST.

Fame of Dorinda's conquest brought The G.o.d of Love her charms to view; To wound th' unwary maid he thought, But soon became her conquest too.

He dropp'd half-drawn his feeble bow, He look'd, he raved, and sighing pined; And wish'd in vain he had been now, As painters falsely draw him, blind.

Disarm'd, he to his mother flies; Help, Venus, help thy wretched son!

Who now will pay us sacrifice?

For Love himself's, alas! undone.

To Cupid now no lover's prayer Shall be address'd in suppliant sighs; My darts are gone, but, oh! beware, Fond mortals, of Dorinda's eyes!

John Hughes.

LOVERS IN DISGUISE.

How bless'd are lovers in disguise!

Like G.o.ds, they see, As I do thee, Unseen by human eyes.

Exposed to view, I'm hid from view, I'm altered, yet the same: The dark conceals me, Love reveals me: Love, which lights me by its flame.

Were you not false, you would me know; For though your eyes Could not devise, Your heart had told you so.

Your heart would beat With eager heat, And me by sympathy would find: True love might see, One changed like me, False love is only blind.

George Farquhar.

WHEN THY BEAUTY APPEARS.

When thy beauty appears In its graces and airs, All bright as an angel new dropt from the sky; At a distance I gaze, and am aw'd by my fears, So strangely you dazzle my eye!

But then, without art, Your kind thought you impart, When your love runs in blushes through every vein; When it darts from your eyes, when it pants in your heart, Then I know you're a woman again.

There's a pa.s.sion and pride In our s.e.x, she replied, And thus, might I gratify both, would I do: Still an angel appear to each lover beside, But still be a woman to you.

Thomas Parnell.