Poems on several occasions by the Duke of Buckingham, The late Lord Rochester, Sir John Denham, Sir George Etheridge, Andrew Marvel, Esq., the famous Spencer, Madam Behn, and several other poets of this age.

The FLEA, out of Ovid.

THou little Insect, canst thou prove So great an Enemy to Love, Thus to molest the beauteous She, Whose Frame was spotless, but for Thee? I've trac'd the Footsteps of thy Wrong, And now pursue thee with my Song.

Base Vermin! that delight'st in Blood, And juicy Virgins are thy Food; Those Spots, the Trophies thou hast won, Now seem to blush for what is done; And when thy Gorge is fill'd with Gore, (Her Veins contain the richest Store;) Thou▪ Maudlin shed'st repenting Tears, Black as thy self, their Stain appears:

Thou dost invade her slumb'ring Hours, And ro••b'st her Rest, as she does ours; 'Tis then thou wand'rest o'er the Plain, Where we employ our Thoughts in vain; Her Lips, Breasts, Knees, Thighs, all is free, As free as open Air to thee.

It grieves me, when I think that Bliss, Without Fruition, should be less; While on her Couch th'extended Dame, Wishing a Partner of her Flame, Just as she dies, when none is nigh, Thou boldly dost attack her Thigh; Nay, impudently darst t'invade The sweet Recess for others made; Improvidently, without Gust, Thou'rt made a Denizon of Lust.

Now let me perish, but my Foe Is much the happiest thing I know; Thy shape, tho' strange, must be the Dress, To which Orinda gives access: Thus mask'd, I shall discover more, Than all my Courtship did before.

If Nature wou'd transform my Shape, And suffer me to be thy Ape; But on condition, to restore The Features which I had before; I'd try if Magic Charms could move Such wonderful Effects of Love. If Med'cines be as strong as they, I'll presently commence a Flea; And what Medea's Charms have done, Or Circe's Druggs, is fully known.

Suppose the Change—this Pilgrim dress, Conveys me to the Goal of Bliss; Upon th'extremities I stand, And thence survey the Promis'd Land. With silence and with baste I strove To shade me in the sacred Grove; Where unperceiv'd, and acting nought Of Harm, save what was in my Thought; I break the Chains of my Disguise, And Manhood Shoots between her Thighs Perchance the Dame with Fear opprest, Will call me Monster, Villain, Beast; Threatning to call aloud for Aid, When squeamish Honour is betray'd; Then if Intreaties fail, must I Dwindle into a Pensive Fly.

When that is o'er another Scene, Presents me in the Lists agen; Then I invoke the Cyprian Dame, To be propitious to my Flame; And all the Heav'nly Pow'rs t'express Their Care of Lovers in Distress; Sighs, Pray'rs, and gentle Force combine, To make the coy Orinda mine; She to my Wishes yields her Charms, And hugs the Turn-coat in her Arms.