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In all her birthis, though of the meanest kinds,
Behold how bright these gaudy trifles shine, The lovely sportings of a hand divine ! See with what art each curious shell is made, Here carvid in fret-work, there with pearl inlaid !. What vivid streaks th' enamel'd stones adorn, Fair as the paintings of the purple morn! Yet still not half their charms can reach our eyes, While thus confus'd the sparkling chaos lies ; Doubly they'll please, when in your Grotto plac'i, They plainly speak the fair disposer's taste; Then glories yet unseen shall o'er them rise, New order from your hand, new lustre from your
How sweet, how charming, will appear this Grot, When by your art to full perfection brought! Here verdant plants and blooming flow'ss will grow, There bubbling currents through the shell-work flow; Here coral mix'd with shells of various dyes, There polish'd stone will charm our wond'ring eyes; D-lightful bower of bliss ! secure retreat! Fit for the Muses, and STATIRA's seat.
But still how good must be that fair-one's mind,
Blest is the man, whom heav'n shall grant one
hour, With such a lovely nymph, in such a lovely bow'r..
IN AXSWER TO A LETTER
WRITTEN IN A VERY FINE HAND,
By the Same.
Whilst well-wrote lines our wond'ring eyes com.
See with what art the sable currents stain
See, like some virgin, whose unmeaning charms
Let mighty Love no longer boast his darts,
your hands, From pole to pole you send your great commands; To distant climes in vain the lover flies,
o'ertakes him, if he 'scapes your eyes; So those, who from the sword in battle run, But perish victims to the distant gun.
Beauty's a short-liv'd blaze, a fading flow's, But these are chains no ages can devour ; These, far superior to the brightest face, Triumph alike o'er time, as well as space, When that fair form, which thousands now adore, By years decay'd, shall tyrannize no more, These lovely lines shall future ages view, And eyes unborn, like ours, be charm’d by you...
How oft do I admire with fond delight The curious piece, and wish like you to write! Alas, vain hope that might as well aspire Το
copy Paulo's stroke, or Titian's fire: Ev'n now your splendid lines before me lie, And I in vain to imitate them try; Believe me, fair, I'm practising this art, To steal your hand, in hopes to steal your heart.