I

To a LADY, who turn'd her CHEEK.

S'T for a Grace, or is't for fome Diflike,..

That when I'd kifs your Lips, you turn your Some think this Carriage rude in your Behaviour, But I fhould rather take it for a Favour.

For I, to fhew my Kindness, and my Love,

Cheek?

Would leave both Lip and Cheek, to kiss your Glove:
And with the Caufe to make you well acquainted,
Your Glove's perfum'd, your Lips and Cheeks are painted.

The DESPAIRING-LOVER.

Onceal, fond Man, conceal the mighty Smart,
Nor tell Corinna fhe has fir'd thy Heart.

In vain would'st thou complain, in vain pretend,
To ask a Pity which she must not lend.
She's too much thy Superior to comply,

And too too fair to let thy Paffion dye.
Languish in Secret, and with dumb Surprize,

Drink the refiftless Glances of her Eyes,

At awful Distance entertain thy Grief,

Be ftill in Pain, but never ask Relief.

Ne'er tempt her Scorn of thy confuming State
Be any way undone, but fly her Hate.
Thou must submit to see thy Charmer bless
Some happier Youth that shall admire her lefs;
Who in that lovely Form, that heav'nly Mind,
Shall miss ten Thousand Beauties thou could'st find;
Who with low Fancy fhall approach her Charms,
While half enjoy'd fhe finks into his Arms.
She knows not, must not know thy nobler Fire,
Whom she, and whom the Muses do inspire;
Her Image only shall thy Breaft imploy,

And fill thy captiv'd Soul with Shades of Joy;
Direct thy Dreams by Night, thy Thoughts by Day,
And never, never from thy Bofome ftray.

то

TO THE

MEMORY

OF

Sir Samuel Garth,, M. D.

HE Praife, that in thy LIFE we durft ng

pay,

Is fafely offer'd to the filent Clay:

Hero's and Poets are of equal Fame, And after Death their Shrines an Incense claim.

O! may the Lays caft Luftre o'er thy Urn, Like Lamps that in Sepulchral Marbles burn; Which waiting on the Minutes of Decay, i Watchfully pious waste themfelyes away.

SCANDAL

SCANDAL and ENVY fly the facred Ground,
Or come with new-felt Awe, and fear to wound.
Thus Lions once forget their wonted Rage,

་

When the great Prophet lodg'd within the Cage.

Doubtful of Choice, whom firft fhall I commend,
The Man, the Patriot, Poet, or the Friend?
In fingle Characters too rarely met,"

But all in Thee, like Gems in Circles fet.
So common Trees their fingle Fruits produce,
But the rich Vine in Clufters lends its Juice.

...While other lumpifh Wits have labour'd long,
At a dull Satyr, or a nothng Song;

Thy quicker Genius, with a happy Flight,
Shot to the deftin'd Mark, and hit the White;
Thus heavy Fowl, fcarce flutter by our Eyes,
The Lark in Minutes mounts from Earth to Skies.

Whatever Virtues of the Social Kind,

Old Sages taught, or Modern Wit refin'd;
Grew from thy Nature, as its proper Root,
Art gave them Flow'rs, and Learning folid Fruit
Well didft thou chufe a Science from the reft,
Where thy Humanity might shine confest,

To fhew Heav'ns Bleffings not bestow'd in vain,
Smooth the fick Couch, and calm the midnight Pain.

ΤΟ

To make the World unmock'd by happy Skies,
And bid the Sun with chearful Lustre rise.

Thrice happy Skill! when thy Profeffors know
The fecret Joy of mitigating Woe;

Studious of Health, unmindful of the Gain,
While they give Aid, they share a Suff'rers Pain.

O'er the pale Virgin's fading Roses mourn,

And fightill fick'ning Chiefs for Conquefts burn. Such, GARTH, were Marks of thy excelling Art, These built a College in each grateful Heart.

O! may the pious Youth to Thee return,
The Grief once destin’d to his Parent's Urn,

The Tears thy Pow'r from Nations us'd to fave,
For dying Patriots flow upon thy Grave!

But most the Mufe with tuneful Sorrow strive,

To deck thy Tomb, and keep thy Fame alive.

Vain Hopes in them For as when Kings are flain, The Palaces they rais'd their Pride maintain;

So to late Times thy polish'd Work shall stand,

Spreading the Glory of the Builder's Hand;

With thy own NASSAU, and thy MARLBRO' live, And equal Fame receive, and equal give.