Of net-work, circled him around, Thus say the Poets-who in fiction, Might I the genuine truth reveal, Whose was the dull, insensate breast, A convert to the force of love: Would you conceive who 'tis I mean— "The heavenly net-work, Venus' snare, TO A LADY MAKING A PIN-BASKET. BY SIR JAMES MARRIOT. WHILE objects of a parent's care With joy your fond attention share, Madam, accept th' auspicious strain; Nor rise your beauteous work in vain : Oft be your second race survey'd, And oft a new pin-basket made. When marriage was in all its glory (So poets, madam, tell the story,) Ere Plutus damp'd love's purer flame, Or Smithfield bargains had a name, In heav'n a blooming youth and bride At Hymen's altars were ally'd ; When Cupid had his Psyche won, And, all her destin'd labors done, The cruel Fates their rage relented, And mamma Venus had consented. At Jove's command, and Hermes' call, The little rogues now pass'd the row, Low at his throne they bent the knee: He smil'd the blushing pair to see, Lay'd his tremendous bolt aside, And strok'd their cheeks, and kiss'd the bride. Says Juno, since our Jove's so kind, And know, from this your nuptial morn Where we may put the child's array, And get it ready by the day. The nymphs themselves with flowers shall dress it, Pallas shall weave, and I will bless it. ΤΟ A LADY, WITH A PAIR OF GLOVES ON VALENTINE'S DAY. FROM VILLIERS, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. BRIMFUL of anger, not of love, Nor will I leave you in the lurch, Tho' You should dare to name the church; There come equipp'd with all your charms, The ring and licence are my arms; And meet my charmer, though I die. |