WHEN ORPHEUS wentdowntothe regions below,

Which men are forbidden to see,
He tuned up his lyre, as old histories show,

To set his Eurydice free.

All hell was astonish'd a person so wise

Should rashly endanger his life, And venture so far; but how vast their surprise

When they heard that he came for his wife !

To find out a punishment due for his fault

Old Pluto long puzzled his brain; But hell had not torments sufficient, he thought,

So he gave him his wife back again.

But pity succeeding soon vanquish'd his heart,

And pleased with his playing so well, He took her again in reward of his art: Such merit had music in hell.

LisLE.

Vain are the charms of white and red,

Which paint the blooming fair;

Give me the nymph whose snow is spread

Not o'er her face, but hair.

Of smoother cheeks the winning grace
With open

'force defies;
But in the wriokles of her face

Capid in ambush lies.

If naked eyes set hearts on blaze,

And amorous warmth inspire;
Thro' glass who darts her pointed rays

Lights up a fiercer fire.

Nor rivals, nor the train of years,

My peace or bliss destroy; Alive, she gives no jealous fears, And dead, she crowns my joy.

PULTENEY, E. or BATI.

CHLOE brisk and gay appears,

On purpose to invite ;
Yet; when I press her, she, in tears,

Denies her sole delight :

While Celia, seeming shy and coy,

To all her favours grants, And secretly receives that joy

Which others think she wants.

I would, but fear I never shall,

With either fair agree ;
For CELIA will be kind to all,

But Culoe won't to me,

Oh! turn away those cruel eyes,

The stars of my undoing ;
Or death in such a bright disguise

May tempt a second wooing.

Punish their blindly impious pride,

Who dare contemn thy glory; It was my fall that deified

Thy name, and seal'd thy story.

Yet no new sufferings can prepare

A higher praise to crown thee; Tho' my first death proclaim thee fair,

My second will dethrope thee.

Lovers will doubt thou canst entice

No other for thy fuel,
And, if thou burn one victim twice,

Think thee both poor and cruel.

Tue merchant to secure his treasure

Conveys it in a borrow'd name ; EUPHELIA serves to grace my measure,

But Chloe is my real flame.

My softest verse, my darling lyre

Upon EUPHELIA's toilet lay, When Chloe noted her desire

That I should sing, that I should play.

My lyre I tune, my voice I raisc,

But with my numbers mix my sighs; And whilst I sing EUPHELIA's praise,

I fix my soul on Chloe's eyes.

Fair Chloe blush'd ; EUPIELIA frown'd;

I sung and gazed, I play'd and trembled; And Venus to the Loves around Remark'd how ill we all dissembled.

Celia, hoard thy charms no more,

Beauty's like the miser's treasure; Still the rain possessor's poor, ***** siis,

What are riches without pleasure ** Endless pains the miser takes : 461,#!

To increase his heaps of money'nis, vel Lab'ring bees his pattern makes, 1

Yet he fears to taste his honey :

Views with aching eyes his store,

Trembling lest he chance to lose it, Pining still for want of more,

Tho' the wretch wants power to use it, Celia thus with endless arts

f Spends her days, her charms improving, Lab'ring still to conquer hearts,

Yet ne'er tastes the sweets of loviog;

Views with pride her shape and face,

Faveying still she's under twenty; Age brings wrinkles on apace,

While she starves with all her plenty.

Soon