Poetical recreations consisting of original poems, songs, odes, &c. with several new translations : in two parts / part I, occasionally written by Mrs. Jane Barker, part II, by several gentlemen of the universities, and others.

A Paraphrase on the 23d Idyll. of Theocritus, from the beginning, to 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, &c.

I.

AN Amorous little Swain Was set to keep His Father's goodly Flock of Sheep, (Fed in a Common that belong'd to Pan, About the middle of th' Arcadian Plain.) By chance a noble Youth came by, Whom when his sparkling Eyes did spy His watchfull Eyes, That there stood Centinel, And did perform their office well; Stoutly prepar'd for every quick surprize. Marking the Beauty of his Angel's Face, Mix't with sweet carriage, and a heavenly grace, Well satisfy'd, they let him pass;

Who having got admittance, did impart The fatal secret to his wounded heart. Charm'd with the Youth he was that Fate had thither brought, Whose Beauty did surpass desire or thought: In making whom, Nature for once did thus presume, To go beyond her Last, to place On a Man's shoulders a fair Womans face; Or rather to adorn, With more than heav'nly beauty a Terrestial Form.

II.

But ah! his Mind, Not like his Angel Face, proud, scornfull, & unkind, Despising those whom Passion, Whom unresisted Passion mov'd To highest admiration; Those who disdain'd him most, he greatly lov'd: He knew not, nor did he desire to know What Cupid meant, his Arrows, or his Bow, How oft, how usually he throws A Golden Dart, To wound the Heart Of those

Who most unconquerable seem, Iear at his Godship, and his Power contemn. Cruel in deed and word, Who never the least comfort would discover, Or one cool drop of ease afford To a despairing, burning, dying Lover. Choler and anger in his Entrails boils, No pleasant smiles, No rosie Lips, nor blushing Cheeks, Nor languish't Eyes that might betray An inward fondness, and might seem to say, I will thy mutual love repay. No comfortable words he speaks; Nor suffers me to ravish one kind kiss, That entrance to a future, and more perfect bliss: But as a Chased Boar With Vengeance looks upon his Hunter's Spear; Sets up his Bristles on his back, And roaring makes The Forrest all around, and every Creature quake; So he beholds the Swain With desp'rate fury and disdain, Adding more fuel to his never-dying flame.

III.

Disdain did make his Countenance turn pale, And all his other Charms begin to fail; Anger did banish every Grace From the dominions of his lovely Face, VVhilst cruel Eyes, and harder Heart took place. Yet still the Shepherd finds no Arms Fit to resist these languishing, these fainting Charms, His Angel sweetness he must still adore, Troubled that he could manifest his Love no more. Alas! how vain and useless all things prove, VVhen enter'd in Damn'd Cupid's School, VVe learn his Precepts, and his Rules, VVhen shackled in the chains of Love, Turn ••ashionable fools; VVe scarce can call our selves our own, And our affections pay obeisance to anothers Crown.

IV.

No longer able to contain, Though all was needless, all in vain; Tears, like a mighty Flood, Did over-flow their Banks, and drown'd Th' adjacent Barren, fruitless, famish'd Ground.

Trembling with fear, At last he ventur'd to draw near, VVhere all in Glory stood, The object of his Love, the cause of his Despair. First he presumes to kiss The sacred ground whereon he trod, In hopes of ••uture happiness, But all wou'd do no good. Then strove to speak, But ah! Disdain and Fear his forwardness did check, And made his half-out lisping words draw back. Forcing himself at last, stutters such words as these:

V.

O cruel, inexorable, stony Saint, Blind to my Tears, and Dea•• to my Complaint; Sure of some Lyoness, or Tyger born, Unworthy of my Love, as I unworthy of your scorn. A gratefull Gift to you I bring, The welcomest the only thing That now at present do's remain, To ease me of my pain; To ease me of my Love, and you of your Disdain.

And lo, How willingly I go; How willingly I go, where you By your unkindness, destin me unto; I go where every Love-sick Mind Is us'd, an universal Remedy to find; The place is call'd Oblivion's Land, A Lake call'd Lethe in th' midst do's stand: VVhich were it possible that I could dry, In flames unquenchable I still should fry; Nor cou'd I yet forget thy Name, So oft have I repeated o'er the same, But find, alas! no liquor that can quench my flame.

V.

Adieu! lov'd Youth, eternally adieu! But scornfull fair first know what doom, Undoubtedly shall on your Beauty come, And from my dying mouth believe it true. The pleasant Day, alas! is quickly gon, Flowers in th' Morning fresh cut down by Noon; The blushing Rose do's fade, and wither soon,

White Snow do's melt before the scorching Sun; So youthfull Beauty's full of charms, but all are quick∣ly gon, The time will come when you your self will prove How great a Deity is Love. Charm'd by some beauteous she, You'll offer up your sacrifice of Tears, And weary her with your continual Prayers; By Night you'll sigh, and pine, by Day you'll woo, But all's in vain that you can doe, No greater pity will you find, than I from you. Then will your Conscience bring Me into mind, Not to delight, but serve you in your kind; My restless Ghost shall come, Not to cry Ah! but Io! at your doom.

VI.

However grant me this, ev'n this at least; I'll ask no more, but grant me this request: That when thou passest by, Thou woul'st not let me unregarded lye, Seeing the fatal Dagger in my Breast. But come, and grieve, and weep a while, I ask not (what I once so much desir'd) one smile;

But pull the Dagger from the Wound, And close, and close embrace me round; Thy Mantle o'er my liveless Body spread, Give me one kiss, one kiss, when I am dead: I ask no more, O grant me this, That thou may'st joyn Thy Lips to mine, And seal them with a meeting, parting kiss. When forc'd by thy unkindness I am fled, Thou need'st not fear that I can then revive, Though such a kiss cou'd almost raise to life. Hew me a stately Tomb to be my Bed, Where Love and I may lay our head. Then leave me, after thou hast three times said, My Friend, my dearest Friend on Earth is dead; O cruel Death, that canst us two divide; My friend, my friend, would God that I ••or thee had dy'd. Write this Inscription (since they are in fashion) To show how base your scorn, how excellent my pas∣sion. Here lyes a Lover, kill'd by Deep Despair; Stay, Reader, stay, And only be so kind to say, Alas, He lov'd; Alas, He lov'd a Cruel Fair.