:

And feeks to learn the fecret Cause,
Which alien seems from Nature's Laws;
Why at this Cave's tremendous Mouth,
He feels at once both North and South
Whether the Winds in Caverns pent
Through Clefts oppugnant force a Vent;
Or, whether, op'ning all his Stores,
Fierce Eolus in Tempests roars.

YET from this mingled Mafs of Things,
In Time a new Creation springs.
These crude Materials once shall rife,

To fill the Earth, and Air, and Skies &
In various Forms appear agen
Of Vegetables, Brutes, and Men.
So Jove pronounc'd among the Gods,
Olympus trembling as he nods.

ANOTHER

A

ANOTHER.

Louifa to Strephon.

Written in the Year 1730.

H, Strephon, how can you despise

Her, who, without thy Pity, dies?
To Strephan I have still been true,
And of as noble Blood as you ;
Fair Iffue of the genial Bed,
A Virgin in thy Bofom bred;
Embrac'd thee closer than a Wife
When thee I leave, I leave my Life.'
Why should my Shepherd take amiss
That oft I wake thee with a Kifs?
Yet you of ev'ry Kifs complain;
Ah, is not Love a pleafing Pain?
A Pain which ev'ry happy Night
You cure with Ease and with Delight;
With Pleasure, as the Poet fings,
Too great for Mortals less than Kings.

CHLOE,

CHLOE, when on thy Breaft I lye,
Obferve me with revengeful Eye :
If Chloe o'er thy Heart prevails,
She'll tear me with her defp'rate Nails;
And with relentless Hands deftroy

The tender Pledges of our Joy.

Nor have I bred a fpurious Race;

They all were born from thy Embrace.

CONSIDER, Strephon, what

you'

For, fhould I dye for Love of you,

do;

I'll haunt thy Dreams, a bloodlefs Ghoft;
And all my Kin, a num'rous Hoft,
Who down direct our Lineage bring.
From Victors o'er the Memphian King;
Renown'd in Sieges and Campaigns,
Who never fled the bloody Plains,
Who in tempeftuous Seas can fport,
And fcorn the Pleasures of a Court;
From whom great Sylla found his Doom;
Who fcourg'd to Death that Scourge of Rome,
Shall on thee take a Vengeance dire

Thou, like Alcides, fhalt expire,
When his envenom'd Shirt he wore,

And Skin and Flesh in Pieces tore.

Nor

Nor less that Shirt, my Rival's Gift,

Cut from the Piece that made her Shift.
Shall in thy dearest Blood be dy'd,
And make thee tear thy tainted Hyde.

ANOTHER.

Written in the Year 1725.

DEpriv'd of Root, and Branch, and Rind,

Yet Flow'rs I bear of ev'ry Kind;

And fuch is my prolific Pow'r,

They bloom in less than half an Hour:

Yet Standers-by may plainly fee

They get no Nourishment from me.

My Head, with Giddiness,

goes

round

And yet I firmly ftand my Ground

All over naked I am feen,

And painted like an Indian Queen!

No Couple-Beggar in the Land

E'er join'd fuch Numbers Hand in Hand;

And

I join them fairly with a Ring;

Nor can our Parfon blame the Thing

And tho' no Marriage Words are fpoke,
They part not till the Ring is broke.
Yet hypocrite Fanaticks cry,

I'm but an Idol rais'd on high ;

And once a Weaver in our Town,
A damn'd Cromwellian, knock'd me down.
I lay a Prisoner twenty Years;

And then the Jovial Cavaliers

To their old Pofts reftor'd all Three,

I mean the Church, the King, and Me.

On Cenfure:

Written in the Year 1727.

E Wife, inftru&t me to endure

YE

An Evil, which admits no Cure

Or, how this Evil can be born,

Which breeds at once both Hate and Scorni

Bare