That diamond, emerald, and sard
Adorn my Stella's hand,
That jaspers bright should deck the bard
I well can understand.

For as he set a lovely lay
With jewels bright and rare,
A few escaped, and these are they
That now his hand doth wear.

When native virtue, love of martial fame,
Were the rich trophies of each glorious name;
When noble daring bade perfidious France
Draw the keen blade, or " couch the quiv'ring lance; "
Then, how averse to foreign modes and arts,
Those treach'rous trifles that unman our hearts!
They scorn'd her motley manners with disdain,
And found, in Reason's scale, her fopp'ries vain:
Then each accomplish'd Dame resplendent shone
In charms unrivall'd, charms that were her own;
While the interior beauties of her mind,

In vain the youth his utmost art essay'd,
Persuasion mov'd not, nor soft pity sway'd;
But ere he went, his last respect to shew,
Seven Ermine skins, that rival'd Greenland's snow,
With five fair Swans, he as a tribute gave,
And Seals fresh bleeding from the briny wave,
With marble lamps, and oil of curious taste,
To deck her board, and crown the rich repast:
With joy resin'd, this gift the nymph receiv'd,
Sweet proof of love, from him in whom she liv'd;
Then, trembling, wish'd the parting pang was o'er,
While pitying sighs her love-lorn bosom tore.

Love , powerful love, impatient of controul,
Softens the heart, and animates the soul;
That love refin'd that can the magic boast
Of warmth unchang'd amidst eternal frost:
Witness, fair Ajutt, pride of icy plains,
Where darkness half the year triumphant reigns,
And faithful gen'rous Anningait, the youth,
By love taught softness, by that softness truth:
Both flourish'd sweet on Greenland's rigid coast,
Pure as its snow, and constant as its frost;
No polish'd arts of specious vice they knew,
The youth was noble, and the maid was true;

None takes such low security
Though he is poor. My praise is just.
For Cordus, tho' he cannot see,
Accepts his lady-love on trust.

Dear Quintus, why resent my joke?
The one-eyed hag of whom I spoke
Was Thais, and your lady's name
Hermione — 'tis not the same
Or similar. Had I said Thais,
Whereas your lady-love was Lais,
You might complain of that; beside
You swear your love is not one-eyed!
I called her lover " Quintus" — true:
Let's change to " Sextus" — will that do?

Do you design that verse of mine
Should bring repute to you,
Or did you deem by such a scheme
To be a poet too?

Well, I suppose, the pearly rows
'Twixt Aegle's lips that glow,
Though purchased bone, she calls her own,
And thinks them truly so.

Lycoris, too, of mulberry hue
Believes — delusion fond —
The powder puff is quite enough
To make a lovely blonde.

Must we regard you as a bard?
Why, then I will admit
Your head has shocks of lovely locks
Without a hair on it.

You bid me say what kind of maid
Can draw me or repel?
My friend, I hate a forward jade
But loathe a prude as well.
I love the mean: extremes are vain
And never bring me joy;
Love long denied is grief and pain,
While easy favours cloy.

Dear Fronto, famed alike in peace and war,
If you would learn what my chief wishes are,
Know that I crave some acres few to till.
And live at ease as careless as I will.
Why should I always trudge the stony street
And go each morn some haughty lord to greet,
When all the country's spoils are mine to get
Caught in the meshes of a hunting-net?
When I with line could snare the leaping trout
And from the hive press golden honey out,
While Joan my humble board with eggs supplies
Boiled on a fire whose logs she never buys?

When Porcia heard how Brutus fell
And strove to join her lord,
'Twas vain, for they who loved her well
Withheld from her the sword.
" Your witless care," she cried, " hath sought
My purpose to deny;
I deemed my father's deed had taught
That all who will may die,
Though troublous knaves their wish withstand
And every weapon hide."
Deep in her throat a flaming brand
She thrust forthwith and died.