Made my approaches, from her hand
Unto her lip did rife,
And did already understand
The language of the eyes.

Proceeded on with no lefs art,
My tongue was engineer;
I thought to undermine the heart
By whispering in the ear.

When this did nothing, I brought down
Great cannon-oaths, and fhot
A thousand thousand to the town,
And still it yielded not.

I then refolv'd to starve the place,
By cutting off all kiffes,
Praying and gazing on her face,
And all fuch little bliffes.

To draw her out, and from her ftrength,

I drew all batteries in:

And brought myself to lie at length
As if no fiege had been.

When I had done what man could do,

And thought the place mine own,

The enemy lay quiet too,

And fmil'd at all was done.

I fent to know, from whence and where,
Thefe hopes, and this relief;

A spy inform'd, Honour was there,
And did command in chief.

March, march, (quoth I) the word strait give,
I'll lofe no time but leave her;

That giant upon air will live,
And hold it out for ever.

To fuch a place our camp remove
As will no fiege abide ;
I hate a fool that starves her love,
Only to feed her pride.

SONG XXVIII.

BY MATHEW PRIOR ESQ

HE merchant to fecure his treasure
Conveys it in a borrow'd name;
Euphelia ferves to grace my measure,
But Chloe is my real flame.

My foftest verse, my darling lyre

Upon Euphelias toilet lay,

When Chloe noted her defire

That I should fing, that I fhould play.

My lyre I tune, my voice I raise,
But with my numbers mix my fighs;
And whilft I fing Euphelias praise,
I fix my foul on Chloes eyes.

Fair Chloe blush'd, Euphelia frown'd;
I fung and gaz'd, I play'd and trembled ;
And Venus to the Loves around,
Remark'd how ill we all diffembled.

SONG XXIX.

BY SIR WILLIAM YONG E.

N vain, dear Chloe, you fuggeft,
That I, inconftant, have poffefs'd,
Or lov'd a fairer she;

Would you, with ease, at once be cur'd
Of all the ills you've long endur'd,
Confult your glass and me,

If then you think, that I can find
A nymph more fair, or one more kind,
You've reafon for your fears;

But if impartial you will prove
To your own beauty, and my love,
How needlefs are your tears.

If, in my way, I fhould, by chance,
Receive or give a wanton glance,

I like but while I view :

How flight the glance, how faint the kiss,
Compar'd to that substantial blifs
Which I receive from you!

With wanton flight the curious bee
From flow'r to flow'r ftill wanders free;
And where each bloffom blows,
Extracts the juice of all he meets,
But, for his quinteffence of sweets
He ravishes the rofe.

So I, my fancy to employ,
On each variety of joy,

From nymph to nymph do roam;

Perhaps fee fifty in a day;

They're all but vifits that I pay,
For Chloe's still my home.

SONG XXX.

HOULD fome perverfe malignant star

SHO

(As envious ftars will fometimes shine)

Throw me from my Florella far,

Let not my lovely fair repine, If in her abfence I should gaze With pleasure on anothers face.

The wearied pilgrim, when the fun
Has ended his diurnal race,

With pleasure fees the friendly moon

By borrow'd light, fupply his place:
Not that he flights the god of day,
But loves ev'n his reflected ray.

SONG XXXI.

TO CHLOE JEALOUS,

BY MATHEW PRIOR, ESQ

EAR Chloe how blubber'd is that pretty face!

DE

Thy cheek all on fire and thy hair all uncurl'd! Prithee quit this caprice, and (as old Falftaff fays)

Let us e'en talk a little like folks of this world.

How canft thou prefume thou haft leave to destroy
The beauties which Venus but lent to thy keeping?
Thofe looks were defign'd to infpire love and joy:
More ord'nary eyes may ferve people for weeping.

To be vex'd at a trifle or two that I writ,

Your judgement at once, and my paffion you wrong: You take that for fact, which will scarce be found wit: Odslife! muft one fwear to the truth of a fong?

What I fpeak, my fair Chloe, and what I write shows
The diff'rence there is betwixt nature and art:

I court others in verfe; but I love Thee in profe:
And they have my whimfies, but thou haft my heart.

The