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Gentle Henrietta then,
And a third Mary next began;

Then Joan, and Jane, and Andria:
And then a pretty Thomasine,
And then another Catharine,

And then a long etcetera.

But should I now to you relate
The strength and riches of their state,

The powder, patches, and the pins,
The ribbons, jewels, and the rings,
The lace, the paint, and warlike things,

That make up all their magazines :

If I should tell the politic arts
To take and keep men's hearts;

The letters, embassies, and spies, The frowns, and smiles, and Aatteries, The quarrels, tears, and perjuries,

Numberless, nameless mysteries!

And all the little lime-twigs laid
By Machiavel, the waiting maid;

I more voluminous should grow
(Chiefly if I, like them, should tell
All change of weather that befell)

Than Holinshed or Stow.

But I will briefer with them be,
Since few of them were long with me:

An higher and a nobler strain
My present emperess does claim,
Eleonora, first o'th' name,

Whom God grant long to reign.

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The life of this accomplished man, who, though principally distinguished by his inflexible patriotism, was generally and justly admired for his learning, his acuteness in controversial writing, his wit, and his poetical talents, is to be found in almost every biographical work (excepting Dr Johnson's Lives of the Poets); and is, besides, incapable of being so far compressed as to find its place in this little miscellany. He was born in 1620, at Kingston upon Hull (the town

wbich he so long represented in Parliament,) was admitted in 1635 of Trinity College, Cambridge, and died in London,

1678. A neat edition of his poems was published by Davis, in two

small volumes, 1772. But the most complete and splendid collection of his works appeared in three volumes, 4to. 1776, under the care of Capt. Edward Thomson.

Daphnis and Chloe.

[From 27 stanzas. ]

Daphnis must from Chloe part:
Now is come the dismal hour

That must all his hopes devour,
All his labour, all his art,

Nature, her own sex's foe,

Long had taught her to be coy:

But she neither knew t enjoy, Nor yet let her lover go.

But, with this sad news surpriz'd,

Soon she let that niceness fall;

And would gladly yield to all, So it had his stay compris’d.

* * * *

He, well read in all the ways

By which men their siege maintain,

Knew not that, the fort to gain, Better 'twas the siege to raise.

But he came so full possess’d
With the grief of parting thence,

That he had not so much sense
As to see he might be bless'd;

Till love in her language breath'd
Words she never spake before ;

But than legacies no more
To a dying man bequeath’d.

As the soul of one'scárce dead,

With the shrieks of friends aghast,

Looks distracted back in haste, And then straight again is fled;

So did wretched Daphnis look,

Frighting her he loved most.

At the last, this lover's ghost Thus his leave resolved took.

“ Are my hell and heaven join’d,

More to torture him that dies ?

“ Could departure not suffice, “ But that you must then grow kind ?

“ Ah my Chloe ! how have I

“ Such a wretched minute found,

“ When thy favours should me wound “ More than all thy cruelty ?

“ So to the condemned wight

“ The delicious cup we fill,

“ And allow him all he will, « For his last and short delight.

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