But let not this, dear CELIA, now

To rage thy breast incline;

For why, fince you forgot your vow,
Should I remember mine?

H

THE CHOICE.

AD I, PYGMALION like, the pow'r

To make the Nymph I wou'd adore ;
The model fhou'd be thus defign'd,
Like this her form, like this her mind.

Her fkin fhou'd be as lilies fair, With rofy cheeks and jetty hair; Her lips with pure vermilion spread, And foft and moift, as well as red;

Her

eyes fhou'd fhine with vivid light, At once both languishing and bright; Her fhape fhou'd be exact and small, Her ftature rather low than tall;

Her limbs well turn'd, her air and mien

At once both sprightly and ferene;
Befides all this, a nameless grace

Shou'd be diffus'd all o'er her face;
To make the lovely piece complete,
Not only beautiful, but sweet.

This for her form: now for her mind;

I'd have it open, gen'rous, kind,

Void of all coquettish arts,

And vain defigns of conquering hearts,

Not fway'd by any views of gain,

Nor fond of giving others pain;

But soft, tho' bright, like her own eyes,
Difcreetly witty, gayly wife.

I'd have her fkill'd in ev'ry art That can engage a wand'ring heart; Know all the fciences of love,

Yet ever willing to improve;

To prefs the hand, and roll the eye,
And drop fometimes an amorous figh;

Το

I'd have her to ftrict honour ty'd,
And yet without one fpark of pride;
In company well drest and fine,
Yet not ambitious to outfhine;
In private always neat and clean,
And quite a stranger to the spleen ;
Well-pleas'd to grace the park, and play,
And dance fometimes the night away,
But oft'ner fond to spend her hours
In folitude, and fhady bow'rs,

And there, beneath fome filent grove,
Delight in poetry, and love.

Some fparks of the poetic fire
I fain would have her foul inspire,
Enough, at least, to let her know

What joys from love and virtue flow;

Enough, at least, to make her wife,
And fops and fopperies despise;

Prefer her books, and her own mufe,

To vifits, fcandal, chat, and news;
Above her fex exalt her mind,

And make her more than woman-kind.

Το

YOUNG LADY,

GOING TO THE WEST INDIES.

OR univerfal fway defign'd

FOR

To diftant realms CLORINDA flies, And fcorns, in one fmall ifle confin'd,

To bound the conquefts of her eyes.

From our cold climes to INDIA's shore
With cruel hafte fhe wings her way,
To fcorch their fultry plains still more,

And rob us of our only day.

Whilft ev'ry ftreaming eye o'erflows

With tender floods of parting tears, Thy breast, dear cause of all our woes, Alone unmov'd, and gay appears.

But ftill, if right the muses tell,

The fated point of time is nigh,

When grief fhall that fair bofom fwell,
And trickle from thy lovely eye.

Tho' now, like PHILIP's fon, whose arms
Did once the vaffal world command,

You rove with unrefifted charms,

And conquer both by fea and land;

Yet when (as foon they muft) mankind

Shall all be doom'd to wear your chain,

You too, like him, will weep to find

No more unconquer'd worlds remain.