Apollo and Daphne
An Epigram.
When Phœbus was am'rous, and long'd to be rude,
Miss Daphne cry'd Pish! and ran swift to the wood,
And rather than do such a naughty affair,
She became a fine laurel to deck the God's hair.
The nymph was, no doubt, of a cold constitution;
For sure to turn tree was an odd resolution!
Yet in this she behav'd like a true modern spouse,
For she fled from his arms to distinguish his brows.
An Epigram on a Woman who was singing Ballads for Money to bury her Husband.
For her Husband deceas'd Sally chants the sweet lay,
Why, faith, this is singular sorrow;
But (I doubt) since she sings for a dead man to day,
She'll cry for a live one to-morrow.
When Phœbus was am'rous, and long'd to be rude,
Miss Daphne cry'd Pish! and ran swift to the wood,
And rather than do such a naughty affair,
She became a fine laurel to deck the God's hair.
The nymph was, no doubt, of a cold constitution;
For sure to turn tree was an odd resolution!
Yet in this she behav'd like a true modern spouse,
For she fled from his arms to distinguish his brows.
An Epigram on a Woman who was singing Ballads for Money to bury her Husband.
For her Husband deceas'd Sally chants the sweet lay,
Why, faith, this is singular sorrow;
But (I doubt) since she sings for a dead man to day,
She'll cry for a live one to-morrow.
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