SIR CHARLES's

REPLY.

I'LL not believe that Phoebus did not smile,
Unhappily for you I know his style;

To strains like yours of old his harp he strung,
And while he dictated Orinda sung.

Did beauteous Daphne's scorn of proffer'd love
Against the sex his indignation move?
It rather made you his peculiar care,
Convinc'd from thence, ye were as good as fair.
As mortals, who from dust receiv'd their birth,
Must when they die return to native earth;
So too the laurel, that your brow adorns,
Sprang from the fair, and to the fair returns.

ΤΟ

A LADY,

Who sent Compliments to a

CLERGYMAN

UPON THE TEN OF HEARTS.

YOUR Compliments, dear Lady, pray forbear,
Old English services are more sincere ;
You send Ten Hearts, the tithe is only mine,
Give me but One, and burn the other Nine.

ΤΟ

LADY MARY CHAMBERS.

ON HER

INTENDED VOYAGE INTO TURKEY.

BY

BAINBRIGG BUCKEREDGE, ESQ;

WHY should the charming Galatea shun
The bleeding conquests that her eyes have won ?
Oh! stay, and give us yet a gentler fate;
For absence is more cruel than your hate.
Love in those eyes so absolutely reigns,

We're slaves by choice, nor wish to quit our chains;

Vain of our wounds, and proud to be undone,
We would not from the glorious ruin run.
Her charms the limit of an isle disdain,
And spread a powerful empire o'er the main.
Shall she to barbarous coasts from hence remove,
And melt their tyrant hearts with flames of love?
To punish haughty slaves, that proudly dare,
Triumph o'er beauty and insult the fair?

Ev'n he, whose nod a thousand beauties wait,
And, wishing, silently expect their fate ;
Aw'd by her charms, shall a just vengeance meet,
And lie a slave despairing at her feet.

But O! bright Nymph, let not a long return Make wretched we your tedious absence mourn: Let then the barbarous nations soon restore Fair Galatea to the British shore:

Else they expect in vain the war should cease, And England's Moderator signs in vain the peace.

TO THE

LADY MARCHIONESS GREY.

BY THE HONORABLE

MISS MARGARET YORKE.

THY shades, Vacuna, and thy verdant meads,
The seat of Heroes fam'd for valiant deeds,
Demand the song. O gentle Graia! hear;
To a young Bard a few short moments spare:
Be thou my Muse, and with one gracious smile
Reward and animate the tuneful toil.

And O! inspire my verse, while it recites
Vacuna's much-lov'd elegant delights:
Whether embower'd in shady groves we walk,
Or in the Temple of chaste Dian talk;
Or if with laughter clear the dome resounds,

When Wray the ear with uncouth phrases wounds:
If now the sprightly Bam our wit employs,

Now graver studies give more solid joys:
If lightly on the green we jocund dance,
Or round the spacious garden choose to prance;
Whether the setting-sun-beam's golden fire,
Or Cynthia's paler beauties we admire ;