ΤΟ A YOUNG LADY, ON HER PRESENTING THE AUTHOR WITH A LOCK OF HER HAIR. By the Same. THE Poets (fabling tribe !) aver, The wily Goddess then, 'tis said, All with an heavenly-temper'd braid Of net-work, circled him around, And to her snowy bosom bound; Secur'd the conquest of her eyes, From the fierce God of War so tam'd, Thenceforth was BEAUTY'S GODDESS nam'd. Thus say the Poets-who in fiction, In figure, and in contradiction Might I the genuine truth reveal, And would you listen to the tale; Would you, indulgently, supply Whate'er I pass in silence by Whose was the dull, insensate breast, A convert to the force of love : "The heavenly net-work, Venus' snare, Some faint resemblance was of-You.” ΤΟ A LADY, MAKING A PIN-BASKET. BY SIR JAMES MARRIOT. WHILE objects of a parent's care When marriage was in all its glory, (So Poets, madam, tell the story,) Ere Plutus damp'd love's purer flame, Or Smithfield bargains had a name, In Heav'n a blooming youth and bride At Hymen's altars were ally'd; When Cupid had his Psyche won, And, all her destin'd labors done, The cruel Fates their rage relented, And mamma Venus had consented. At Jove's command, and Hermes' call, And look'd and mov'd I don't know how, Before the mighty Thunderer. Low at his throne they bent the knee: He smil'd the blushing pair to see, Laid his tremendous bolt aside, And strok'd their cheeks, and kiss'd the bride. Says Juno, since our Jove's so kind, My dear, some present I must find. And know, from this your nuptial morn Shall first assist us with the wire; |