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THE FAIR EQUIVOQUE. As blooming Harriet mov'd along, The fairest of the beauteous throng, The beaux gaz'd on with admiration, Avow'd by many an exclamation. What form! what nairete! what grace! What roses deck that Grecian face ! “ Nay,” Dashwood cries, “ that bloom's not

Harriet's, “ 'Twas bought at Reynolds’, Moore's, or Mar

riot's; “ And though you vow her face untainted, “ I swear, by G-d, your beauty's painted.” A wager instantly was laid, And Ranger sought the lovely maid; The pending bet he soon reveald, Nor e’en the impious oath conceald. Confus'd-her cheek bore witness true, By turns the roses came and flew. “ Your bet,” she said, “ is rudely odd“ But I am painted, Sir—by God.

I cannot tell a linguist sage,

And skill'd in critic ken profound, The purport of each puzzling page,

Nor every tangled text expound; But I can read, and run the while,

The lucid language of an eye, The mystic meaning of asmile,

The soft confession of a sigh. I cannot give each light a name,

Which gems th' expanse of ether blue, Nor sing the physic and the fame,

Of every herb which sips the dew; But I of all the charms can speak,

Which round my Chloe's image fly, Bloom in the blossom of her cheek,

Laugh in the lustre of her eye. No Rhetorician's robe I wear,

But can teach many a honey'd wile; The soft persuasion of a tear,

The ruby rhetoric of a smile. My want of wit, who shall despise ?

Since Love has made the world his throne; Laws, arts, has he, and politics,

And a whole science of his own.

VERSES

IMITATED FROM THE LATIN; PY THE

KEV: J. WESLEY.

LINES, BY THE REY. GEORGE RICHARDS. Au! dearest Muse, whose carol gay Hath brightend ev'n my summer's way; No more we roam through Nuneham's Wood, Nor sing by Isis' classic flood; Those scenes where passed our happier hours, Those lovely scenes no more are ours. The wintery storms must roll away, And summer suns illume the day, E’er again, delightful power, By Whitehead's Oak, or Mason’s Bow'r, We tid the song in rapture rise To Harcourt's flowery Paradise. Yes, sweetest Maid, again thy shell Shall sound along each vocal dell; Again from yonder elmy brow Shall thy sprightly measures flow; And, reclin'd by Isis' stream, Thy, poet wait the inspiring dream. Now far we go-get wake the wire To strains which Gratitude inspire, For social hours by Fancy cheerd, For joys by Friendship's smile endear'd. E'er fade the disappearing view, Ah turn, and breathe a warm adieu.

As o'er fair Chloe's rosy cheek

Careless a vagrant past;
With artful hand around his waist,

A slender chain the virgin cast.
As Juno near her throne above

Her spangled birds delight to see; As Venus has her favorite dove,

Chloe shall have her favourite fiea. Pleas’d with his chains, with nimble steps

He o'er her snowy bosom stray'd; Now on her panting breast he leaps,

Now hides between, his little head. Leaving at length his old abode,

He found, by thirst or fortune led, Her swelling lips, that brighter glow'd

Than roses in the native bed. Chloe, your artful barids undo,

Nor for your captive's safety fear ; No artful bands are needful now,

To keep the willing vagrant here. While on that heaven 'tis given to stay,

(Who would not wish to be so bles: ?) No force can drive him once away,

Till death shall seize his destin'd breast

LOVE'S LEARNING. 'Tho'never taught to measure space,

Nor vers’d in geometric lore, The line of beauty I can trace,

And Chloe's finished forın adore.

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Nen pattern for Needlepork designed and printed for
La Belle

V° April 1. 1807 .

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