Tate and Ambition, alas! will deceive ye,

STa

There's no solid Joy but the Blessing of Love; Scorn does of Pleasure fair Sylvia bereave ye, Your Fame is not perfect till that you remove : Monarchs that sway the vast Globe in their Glory, Know Love is their brightest Jewel of Pow'r; Poor Philemon's Heart was ordain'd to adore ye, Ah! then disdain his Passion no more.

Fove on his Throne was the Victim of Beauty,
His thunder laid by, he from Heaven came down ;
Shap'd like a Swan, to fair Leda paid Duty,

And priz'd her far more than his Heav'nly crown : She too was pleas'd with her beautiful Lover,

And stroak'd his white Plums, and feasted her Eye; His cunning in Loving knew well how to move her, By Billing begins the business of Joy.

Since Divine Powers Examples have given,
If we should not follow their Precepts, we sin :
Sure 'twill appear an Affront to their Heaven,
If when the Gate opens we enter not in.
Beauty my Dearest was from the beginning,
Created to calm our Amorous Rage;

And she that against that Decree will be sinning,
In Youth still will find the Curse of old Age.

The PERFECTION,

A New SonNG. To the Dutchess of Grafton. Set to Musick by Dr. John Blow.

WE

E all to conqu'ring Beauty bow, Its pleasing Pow'r admire; But I ne'er knew a Face 'till now,

That like yours could inspire.
Now I may say, I met with one,
Amazes all Mankind;

And like Men gazing on the Sun,
With too much light am blind.

Soft as the tender moving Sighs,
When longing Lovers meet;
Like the dividing Prophets wise,

And like blown Roses sweet:
Modest, yet Gay; Reserv'd, yet Free;
Each happy Night a Bride;
A Mein like awful Majesty,
And yet no spark of Pride.

The Patriarch, to gain a Wife,
Chast, Beautiful, and Young:
Serv'd fourteen Years a painful Life,
And never thought 'em long.
Ah! were you to reward such Cares,
And Life so long couldst stay;
Not fourteen, but four hundred Years,
Would seem but as one Day.

The

4

The DISTRUST.

A New SONG, set to Musick by Mr. John Lenton.