STREPHON.

Others as fair, to others eyes may seem,
But she has all my love and my esteem:
Her bright idea wanders in my thought,
At once my poison, and my antidote.

THIRSIS.

Our hearts are paper, beauty is the pen,
Which writes our loves, and blots 'em out agen.
Phillis is whiter than the rising swan,
Her slender waist confin'd within a span:
Charming as nature's face in the new spring,
When early birds on the green branches sing.
When rising herbs and buds begin to hide,
Their naked mother, with their short-liv'd pride,
Chloe is ripe, and as the autumn fair,
When on the elm the purple grapes appear,
When trees, hedge-rows, and every bending bush,
With rip'ning fruit, or tasteful berries blush,
Lydia is in the summer of her days,
What wood can shade us from her piercing rays?
Her even teeth, whiter than new yean'd lambs,
When they with tender cries pursue their dams.
Her eyes as charming as the evening sun,
To the scorch'd labourer when his work is done,
Whom the glad pipe, to rural sports invites,
And pays his toil with innocent delights.