Of net-work, circled him around,
And to her snowy bosom bound;
Secur'd the conquest of her eyes,
And, by the rulers of the skies,
From the fierce God of War so tam'd,
Thenceforth was BEAUTY'S GODDESS nam'd.

Thus say the Poets-who in fiction,
In figure, and in contradiction
To all the laws of modest Nature,
Trick out a strange romantic creature,
Which after all they quaintly feign,
No where exists, but in the brain.

Might I the genuine truth reveal,
And would you listen to the tale;
Would you, indulgently, supply
Whate'er I pass in silence by-

Whose was the dull, insensate breast,
Which Beauty's power, at length confess'd―
Who soon became, that power to prove,

A convert to the force of love:

Would you conceive who 'tis I mean—
The rest 'twere easy to explain:

"The heavenly net-work, Venus' snare,
Was this-A RINGLET OF HER HAIR:
And She, to give her ALL her due,
Some faint resemblance was of-you."

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 train appear'd to fill the hall,
And gods and goddesses were drest,
To do them honor in their best.

The little rogues now pass'd the row,
And look'd and mov'd I don't know how,
And, ambling hand in hand, appear
Before the mighty Thunderer.

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,
My dear, some present I must find.
In greatest pleasures, greatest dangers,
We and the sex were never strangers;
With bounteous hand my gifts I spread,
Presiding o'er the marriage-bed.
Soon, for the months are on the wing,
To you a daughter fair I bring,

And know, from this your nuptial morn
Shall Pleasure, smiling babe, be born.
But for the babe we must prepare;
That too shall be your Juno's care.
Apollo from his golden lyre
Shall first assist us with the wire;
Vulcan shall make the silver pin;
The basket thus we shall begin,

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,
The champion sends his foe one glove;
But I, who have a double share
Of softer passion, send a pair.
Nor think it, dearest Celia, cruel,
That I invite you to a duel :
Ready to meet you face to face,
At any time, in any place:

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;
With these I mean your power to try,

And meet my charmer, though I die.