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If chance his mate's shrill call he hear,
And drops at once into her nest.
The noblest captain in the British fleet
Might envy William's lips those kisses sweet.

O Susan, Susan, lovely dear,

My vows shall ever true remain; Let me kiss off that falling tear;

We only part to meet again. Change, as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be The faithful compass that still points to thee.

Believe not what the landsmen say,

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind:
They'll tell thee, sailors, when away,
In every port a mistress find:

Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.

If to fair India's coast we sail,

Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright,
Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,
Thy skin is ivory so white.

Thus every beauteous object that I view,
Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.

Though battle call me from thy arms,
Let not my pretty Susan mourn;
Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms,
William shall to his dear return.

Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.

The boatswain gave the dreadful word,
The sails their swelling bosom spread ;
No longer must she stay aboard;

They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head. Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land: Adieu! she cries; and waved her lily hand.

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THE pride of every grove I chose,

The violet sweet and lily fair,
The dappled pink and blushing rose,
To deck my charming Chloe's hair.

At morn the nymph vouchsafed to place
Upon her brow the various wreath;
The flowers less blooming than her face,
The scent less fragrant than her breath.

The flowers she wore along the day,

And every nymph and shepherd said, That in her hair they look'd more gay Than glowing in their native bed.

Undress'd at evening, when she found

Their odours lost, their colours past, She changed her look, and on the ground Her garland and her eyes she cast.

That eye dropp'd sense distinct and clear
As any muse's tongue could speak,
When from its lid a pearly tear

Ran trickling down her beauteous cheek.
Dissembling what I knew too well,

My love, my life, said I, explain This change of humour; prithee tell

That falling tear-what does it mean?

She sigh'd, she smiled; and to the flowers
Pointing, the lovely mor❜list said,
See, friend, in some few fleeting hours,
See yonder, what a change is made.
Ah me! the blooming pride of May

And that of beauty are but one;
At morn both flourish bright and gay,
Both fade at evening, pale, and gone.


John Pomfret.


IF Heaven the grateful liberty would give

That I might choose my method how to live; And all those hours propitious Fate should lend, In blissful ease and satisfaction spend;

Near some fair town I'd have a private seat,
Built uniform, not little, nor too great;
Better, if on a rising ground it stood;

On this side fields, on that a neighbouring wood.
It should within no other things contain

But what are useful, necessary, plain;

Methinks 'tis nauseous, and I'd ne'er endure
The needless pomp of gaudy furniture.
A little garden, grateful to the eye:
And a cool rivulet run murmuring by:
On whose delicious banks a stately row
Of shady limes, or sycamores, should grow.
At the end of which a silent study placed,
Should be with all the noblest authors graced :
Horace and Virgil, in whose mighty lines
Immortal wit and solid learning shines;
Sharp Juvenal, and amorous Ovid too,
Who all the turns of love's soft passion knew:
He that with judgment reads his charming lines,
In which strong art with stronger nature joins,
Must grant his fancy does the best excel;
His thoughts so tender, and express'd so well:
With all those moderns, men of steady sense,
Esteem'd for learning, and for eloquence.
In some of these, as fancy should advise,
I'd always take my morning exercise:
For sure no minutes bring us more content,
Than those in pleasing, useful studies spent.

I'd have a clear and competent estate,
That I might live genteelly, but not great:
As much as I could moderately spend ;
A little more, sometimes t' oblige a friend.
Nor should the sons of poverty repine

Too much at fortune, they should taste of mine;

And all that objects of true pity were,

Should be relieved with what my wants could spare;

For that our Maker has too largely given,

Should be return'd in gratitude to Heaven;
A frugal plenty should my table spread;
With healthy, not luxurious dishes fed:
Enough to satisfy and something more,
To feed the stranger, and the neighbouring poor.
Strong meat indulges vice, and pampering food
Creates diseases, and inflames the blood.
But what's sufficient to make nature strong,
And the bright lamp of life continue long,
I'd freely take; and, as I did possess,
The bounteous Author of my plenty bless.

I'd have a little vault, but always stored
With the best wines each vintage could afford;
Wine whets the wit, improves its native force,
And gives a pleasant flavour to discourse;
By making all our spirits debonair,
Throws off the lees, the sediment of care.
But as the greatest blessing Heaven lends
May be debauch'd, and serve ignoble ends:
So, but too oft, the grape's refreshing juice
Does many mischievous effects produce.
My house should no such rude disorders know,
As from high drinking consequently flow;
Nor would I use what was so kindly given,
To the dishonour of indulgent Heaven.
If any neighbour came, he should be free,
Used with respect, and not uneasy be,
In my retreat, or to himself or me.

What freedom, prudence, and right reason give,
All men may, with impunity, receive :

But the least swerving from their rule's too much; For what's forbidden us, 'tis death to touch.

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