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Charisius now, with hope inspired,
(That beauteous youth, so long admired !)
A kind reception flew to meet,
And fell at his beloved's feet.
But Glycera in raptures gazed,
And from his knees the suppliant raised ;
Then slyly turn'd about to kiss
The hand which had been touch'd by his.
And soon was his forgiveness past,
For Love forbade her rage to last.
The crafty maid stood smiling by
The while, and archly wink'd her eye,
To show, that she alone had wit
To make the haughty swain submit.



How hard is my lot, and my fate how perverse !
Whom two dread misfortunes join forces to curse :
When one is sufficient to plague one's life through,
'Tis the devil indeed to be saddled with two :
And that each is an evil, will scarce be denied,
Though which the severest, is hard to decide.
First, a profligate jilt throws my money away--
Then my happier rivals all beat me at play :
For as soon as the dice and the tables are set,
Love pops in my head-spoils each cast and each bet.
Thus all my antagonists win what they will

Though much my inferiors in practice and skill:
For disturb’d, I forget how the chances have gone,
And place to their side what I've gain'd on my own.
Then leaving my play for my mistress, I meet
A rebuff more severe than my former defeat:

rivals outbid me, enrich'd at my cost,
And give, what the moment before I have lost.
Scorn'd and slighted am I, the while they are carest,
And I lend them the weapon to stab.my own breast.-
Thus misfortunes, together when join'd, become worse,
And gain from each other additional force,


. Epistle XXIII.] From a man unfortunale both in play and love.


My lovers, a detested set,
Last night at my apartments met.-
Long did they sit, and stare, while each
Seem'd to have lost the powers of speech;
Expecting when his neighbour's jaws
Should open

in the common cause.
At length the boldest of the gang
Arose, and made a fine harangue.
In which the wordy youth profest
Only t advise me for the best :
But really meant (I guess'd his theme)
To rival you in my esteem.
“No girl," said he," who treads the stage,
Like you can all our hearts engage;
And since your charms surpass them all,
Why should your profits be so small ?
Whereas we gladly would supply you,
But are repulsed and slighted by you
For Lysias ; who, to say the truth,
Is but a very awkward youth.
Did he remarkably excel us,
We had no reason to be jealous :
And you might feasibly maintain
That beauty pleased you more than gain.
But now you've not a single plea
For praising him to this degree.

yet you still remain the same,
And stun us with his odious name;
So oft repeated, that we seem
To hear it even when we dream.
Can it be passion thus to dote?
No—'t must some phrensy sure denote.
But all we now desire to hear, is
A faithful answer to our queries.
Can Lysias only touch your breast ?
Resolve you to dismiss the rest ?
Speak but the word-and we desist;

But let us know your mind at least." Epistle XXIV.] From a girl to her favoured lover, for whose sake she had dismissed her other admirers.

Thus the whole evening did they preach
In many a long and fruitless speech.
But 'twould require a day and more
To copy half their nonsense o'er-
Suffice it, all their idle chat
Went in at this ear, out at that.
This, and this only, I replied,
“ 'Tis Cupid that my choice did guide :
He bade my heart its feelings own;
For Lysias live-for him alone.”
“Who," cried they, “would that wretch admire,
That antidote to all desire ?
What heart for such a clown can pine ?"-
"Mine," answer'd I with rapture, “mine.”.
Then rising, “Fare ye well,” I cried,
“But cease my lover to deride.
Your proffer'd treasures I despise,
In Lysias all my transport lies.”
Haste then, loved youth, oh hither haste;
The precious moments do not waste :
Oh bring me but one tender kiss;
With int’rest I'll repay the bliss.
Oh! grant me, Venus, this request,
And send the idol of


Come, Lysias, come, and soothe my pangs,
On thee my very being hangs.
E'en while I write time slips away :
Then why this torturing delay ? -
Ne'er shall those brutes avail with me
They're satyrs, when compared with thee.


As yesterday I went to dine
With Pamphilus, a swain of mine,
I took my sister, little heeding
The net Í for myself was spreading ;
Though many circumstances led
To prove she'd mischief in her head.
For first her dress in every part

Was studied with the nicest art : Epistle XXV.] From a girl, accusing her sister of seducing her lover's affections.

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Deck'd out with necklaces and rings,
And twenty other foolish things;
And she had curl'd and bound her hair
With more than ordinary care :
And then, to show her youth the more,
A light, transparent robe she wore-
From head to heel she seem'd t admire
In raptures all her fine attire :
And often turn'd aside to view
If others gazed with raptures too.-
At dinner, grown more bold and free,
She parted Pamphilus and me;
For veering round unheard, unseen,
She slyly drew her chair between.
Then with alluring, am'rous smiles,
And nods, and other wanton wiles,
The unsuspecting youth ensnared,
And rivali'd me in his regard. -
Next she affectedly would sip
The liquor that had touch'd his lip.
He, whose whole thoughts to love incline,
And heated with th' enliv'ning wine,
With interest repaid her glances,
And answered all her kind advances.
Thus sip they from the goblet's brink
Each other's kisses while they drink;
Which with the sparkling wine combined,
Quick passage to the heart did find,
Then Pamphilus an apple broke,
And at her bosom aim'd the stroke;
While she the fragment kiss'd and press'd,
And hid it wanton in her breast.
But I, be sure, was in amaze,
To see my sister's artful ways ;
“ These are returns," I said, “quite fit
To me, who nursed you when a chit.
For shame, lay by this envious art;
Is this to act a sister's part ?"
But vain were words, entreaties vain,
The crafty witch secured my swain.-
By heavens, my sister does me wrong
But oh! she shall not triumph long ;
Well Venus knows I'm not in fault-
"Tyas she who gave the first assault:

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And since our peace her treachery broke,
Let me return her stroke for stroke.
She'll quickly feel, and to her cost,
Not all their fire my eyes have lost
And soon with grief shall she resign

Six of her swains for one of mine.

LONG had Fame thy praises sung,
Sweetest theme of every tongue :
Long mine ears those graces knew,
Which till now ne'er blest


Now thy charms my bosom fire,
More and more I now admire ;
Finding them so far excel
All that Fame had words to tell.
On thy gestures who could gaze,
Nor be lost in wild amaze ?
Who unhurt, with bosom cold,
Could thy beauteous form behold ?
'Mong th' immortal race divine,
Venus and Polymnia t shine.
They presided at thy birth,
And ordain'd, that thou on earth,
Like th’ expressive muse shouldst move,
And inspire, like Venus, love.
Art thou orator or painter ?
Which allusion is the quainter ?
Words thou canst with skill express ;
Things in native colours dress;
While thy animated arm,
Limbs with elocution warm;
Motions just, and nicely true,
Are thy tongue and pencil too.
Thou, thus eloquently mute,
Canst each part, like Proteus, suit:
As the strains, or light or slow,

Bid successive passions flow. * Epistle XXVI.] A panegyrical Epistle to a pantomime actress (PXÉXTPIAA). The celebrated Casaubon, who wrote some critiques upon this work, points out a peculiar elegance in this Epistle; but it is to be feared much of it depended on the expressions of the original.—However, it throws some light on the art of the ancient times.

+ Polymnic particularly presided over gesture.

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