Quanta mihi nervos, heu, quanta eft flamma medullas,
Pectoris ut video luxuriantis ebur-

Pectoris eximia nymphæ-jam dulcè tumentis
Jam fubfidentis-fed cupit ante premi.

IV.

Circumdat mediam ceftus (mihi credite) nympham
Infignis ceftus, quem dedit ipfa Venus:
Dulce fatellitium circa illam ludit amorum,
Atque hilares ducit turba jocofa choros.
Felix ante homines iftius cingula zonæ

Qui folvas, felix, quisquis es, ante Deos!
Qmnes, tanta omnes, nifi me, contingere poffe
Gaudia, vosque Dii, tuque puella neges.

What flames my nerves invade

When I behold the breast

Of that too charming maid
Rife fuing to be preft!

IV.

Venus round Fanny's waist
Has her own ceftus bound,
There guardian Cupids grace,
And dance the circle round.
How happy muft he be,

Who fhall her zone unloofe!
That blifs to all but me,
May heav'n and fhe refufe.

The

The PRETTY CHAMBERMAID:

In Imitation of Ne fit Ancillæ tibi amor pudori, &c.

Of Horace.

I.

COLLIN, oh! ceafe thy friend to blame,

Who entertains a fervile flame.

Chide not-believe me, 'tis no more

Than great Achilles did before,
Who nobler, prouder far than he is,
Ador'd his chambermaid Brifeis.

II.

The thund'ring Ajax Venus lays
In love's inextricable maze.

His flave Tecmeffa makes him yield,
Now mistress of the fevenfold fhield.
Atrides with his captive play'd,

Who always fhar'd the bed she made.

III.

"Twas at the ten years fiege, when all The Trojans fell in Hector's fall,

When Helen rul'd the day and night,

And made them love and made them fight;
Each hero kifs'd his maid, and why,

Tho' I'm no hero, may not I?

Movit Ajacem Telamone natum

Forma captivæ dominum Tecmeffæ

Arfit Atrides medio in triumpho.

Virgine rapta:

III.

Barbaræ poftquam cecidêre turmæ

Theffalo victore, & ademptus Hector

Tradidit feffis leviora tolli

Pergama Graiis.

IV.

Who knows? Polly Perhaps may be
A piece of ruin'd royalty.

She has (I cannot doubt it) been
The daughter of fome mighty queen ;
But fate's irremeable doom

Has chang'd her fceptre for a broom.

Ah! ceafe to think it-how can fhe,
So generous, charming, fond, and free,
So lib'ral of her little ftore,

So heedlefs of amaffing more,
Have one drop of plebeian blood
In all the circulating flood?

VI.

But you, by carping at my fire,
Do but betray your own defire-
Howe'er proceed-made tame by years,
You'll raife in me no jealous fears.
You've not one spark of love alive,
For, thanks to heav'n, you're forty-five-