From the towering eagle's plume

The generous hearts

accept

their doom:

Shot by the peacock's painted eye,
The vain and airy lovers die:
For careful dames and frugal men,
The fhafts are speckled by the hen.

The pyes and parrots deck the darts,
When prattling wins the panting hearts;
When from the voice the paffions spring,
The warbling finch affords a wing:
Together, by the sparrow stung,
Down fall the wanton and the young:
And fledg'd by geefe the weapons fly,
When others love they know not why.
All this (as late I chanc'd to rove)
I learn'd in yonder waving grove,
And fee, fays Love, who call'd me near,
How much I deal with Nature' here;
How both fupport a proper part,
She gives the feather, I the dart:
Then ceafe for fouls averfe to figh,
If Nature cross you, fo do I;
My weapon there unfeather'd flies,
And shakes and fhuffles through the skies.
But if the mutual charms I find

By which the links you mind to mind,
They wing my fhafts, I poize the darts,

And strike from both, through both your hearts.

ANACRE

GA

ANACREONTIC.

AY Bacchus, liking Eftcourt's* wine,
A noble meal bespoke us;

And for the guests that were to dine,
Brought Comus, Love, and Jocus.

The God near Cupid drew his chair,
Near Comus, Jocus plac'd;

For wine makes Love forget its care,
And mirth exalts a feaft.

The more to please the fprightly God,
Each sweet engaging Grace

Put on fome cloaths to come abroad,
And took a waiter's place.

Then Cupid nam'd at every glafs

A lady of the fky;

While Bacchus fwore he'd drink the lafs
And had it bumper-high.

Fat Comus toft his brimmers o'er,

And always got the moft;

Jocus took care to fill him more,
Whene'er he mifs'd the toast.

They call'd, and drank at every touch;

He fill'd and drank again;

And if the Gods can take too much,

'Tis faid, they did so then..

C 2

* A celebrated comedian and tavern-keeper.

Gay

Gay Bacchus little Cupid ftung,

By reckoning his deceits;

And Cupid mock'd his ftammering tongue,
With all his staggering gaits:

And Jocus droll'd on Comus' ways,

And tales without a jeft;

While Comus call'd his witty plays
But waggeries at best.

Such talk foon fet them all at odds;
And had I Homer's pen,

I'd fing ye, how they drank like Gods,
And how they fought like Men.

To part the fray, the Graces fly,
Who make them foon agree;
Nay, had the Furies felves been nigh,
They ftill were three to three.

Bacchus appeas'd, rais'd Cupid up,
And gave him back his bow;
But kept fome darts to stir the cup,
Where fack and fugar flow.

Jocus took Comus' rofy crown,
And gayly wore the prize,

And thrice, in mirth, he push'd him down,
As thrice he ftrove to rife.

Then Cupid fought the myrtle grove,
Where Venus did recline;

And Venus clofe embracing Love,

They join'd to rail at wine.

And

And Comus loudly curfing wit,
Roll'd off to fome retreat;

Where boon companions gravely fit
In fat unweildy state.

Bacchus and Jocus ftill behind,

For one fresh glass prepare;
They kifs, and are exceeding kind,
And vow to be fincere.

But part in time, whoever hear
This our inftructive fong;
For though fuch friendships may be dear,
They can't continue long.

A FAIRY TALE.

IN THE ANCIENT ENGLISH STILE.

N Britain's ifle, and Arthur's days,

IN

When midnight Fairies daunc'd the maze,

Liv'd Edwin of the Green;

Edwin, I wis, a gentle youth,

Endow'd with courage, fenfe, and truth,
Though badly fhap'd he'd been.

His mountain back mote well be faid,

To measure height against his head,
And lift itself above;

Yet, fpite of all that Nature did

To make his uncouth form forbid,

This creature dar'd to love.

He felt the charms of Edith's eyes,
Nor wanted hope to gain the prize,
Could ladies look within;

But one Sir Topaz dress'd with art,
And, if a shape could win a heart,
He had a shape to win..

Edwin, if right I read my song,
With flighted paffion pac'd along
All in the moony light;

'T was near an old enchanted court,
Where sportive fairies made refort
To revel out the night.

His heart was drear, his hope was crofs'd,
'T was late, 't was far, the path was loft
That reach'd the neighbour-town;
With weary steps he quits the fhades,
Refolv'd, the darkling dome he treads,
And drops his limbs adown.

But fcant he lays him on the floor,
When hollow winds remove the door,

And, trembling, rocks the ground:

And, well I ween to count aright,
At once a hundred tapers light
On all the walls around.

Now founding tongues affail his ear,
Now founding feet approachen near,

And now the founds increase:

And