Comets equally excite the admiration of the philosopher and the clod of the valley :-so do women. Comets and women, therefore, are closely analogous; but the nature of each being inscrutable, all that remains for us to do is, to view, with admiration, the one, and, almost to adoration, love the other.

ON A LADY

Half masking herself when she smiled.

So, when the sun, with his meridian light,
Too fiercely darts upon our ravish'd sight,
We thank th' officious cloud, by whose kind aid,
We view his glory lessen'd in a shade.

ROSALINDA.

To Rosalinda's eyes who don't submit,
Fall the proud victims of her conqu❜ring wit;
And all, whose dulness dares her wit despise,
Bow to the piercing influence of her eyes:
Then thou, who wishest not her slave to be,
Become but deaf and blind, and thou art free.

TO A LADY,

With a present of a pair of Drinking-Glasses.

BY ROBERT BURNS.

Fair Empress of the Poet's soul,

And Queen of Poetesses;

G

Clarinda, take this little boon,
This humble pair of glasses ;-

And fill them high with generous juice,
As generous as your mind;

And pledge me in the generous toast—
"The whole of human kind!”

"To those who love us!"-second fill;
But not to those whom we love;
Lest we love those who love not us!
A third-to thee and me, love!"

FANNY.

The bright bewitching Fanny's eyes,
A thousand hearts have won,
Whilst she, regardless of the prize,
Securely keeps her own.

Ah! what a dreadful girl are you,
Who, if you e'er design

To make one happy, must undo
Nine hundred ninety nine.

ON SEEING THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE,

Half masked, at the Opera House Gala, June, 1786.

O quite reveal that heavenly face,

Where Love and all his cherubs play :
So, noon's first blush in shades we trace,
And anxiously invoke the day.

ON A DRINKING GLASS.

The God of Wine grows jealous of his art;
He only fires the head, but Anne the heart.
The Queen of Love looks on, and smiles to see
A nymph more mighty than a deity.

LORD LITTLETON TO LADY BROWN.

When I was young and debonnair,
The brownest nymph to me was fair;
But now I'm old, and wiser grown,

The fairest nymph to me is Brown.

TO THE DUCHESS OF BEAUFORT.

Offspring of a gifted sire,

Blest with more than mortal fire;
Likeness of a mother's face,

Blest with more than mortal grace;
You with double charms surprise,
With his wit, and with her eyes.

LOVE PRESENTS.

By the civil law, says Monmouth, whatsoever is given ex sponsalitiæ largitate betwixt them that are promised, has a condition (for the most part silent) that it may be had again, if marriage ensue not,— si sponsus dederit aliquid et aliquo casu impediantur nisi osculum intervenerit; but if he had a kiss

for his money, he loseth one half of that which he gave. But, with the woman it is otherwise; for kissing, or not kissing, whatsoever she gave, she may ask and have again. This is but for gloves, rings, bracelets, and other small wares. And in returning, a woman hath greater favour, in greater gifts, than a man hath.

The following paragraph, from a magazine for 1766, will show, that still greater favour was shewn to the lady. Thursday.-A young woman, about twenty years of age, was summoned before the Court of Conscience, by an elderly gentleman, for a debt of 10s. 3d. being the value of a ring he presented her with, in order to be married; which was given in favour of the young woman."

TO HIS WELL-TIMBERED MISTRESS.

BY T. RANDOLPH.

Sweet, heard you not Fame's latest breath rehearse
How I left hewing blocks to hack a verse?
Now grown the master-log, while others be
But shavings, and the chips of poetry.
And thus I saw deal-boards of beauty forth,
To make my love a warehouse of her worth.
Her legs are heart of oak, and columns stand
To bear the amorous bulk; then, Muse, command
That beech be work'd for thighs unto those legs,
Turn'd round and carv'd, and joined fast with pegs;

Another story make from waste to chin,

With breasts, like pots, to nurse young sparrows in ;
Then place the garret of her head above,

Thatch'd with a yellow hair to keep in Love.
Thus have I finish'd Beauty's master-prize,
Were but the Glazier here to make her eyes;
Then, Muse, her outworks henceforth cease to raise,
So, work within, and wainscot her with praise.

ON A LADY,

Who lamented that she could not sing.

BY JERNINGHAM.

"Oh! give to Lydia, ye blest pow'rs," I cried, "A voice! the only gift ye have denied." "A voice!" says Venus, with a laughing air, "A voice! strange object of a lover's prayer! Say, shall your chosen fair resemble most Yon Philomel, whose voice is all her boast ? Or curtain'd round with leaves, yon mournful dove, That hoarsely murmurs to the conscious grove?" "Still more unlike," I said; "be Lydia's note The pleasing tone of Philomela's throat, So to the hoarseness of the murm'ring dove She joins ('tis all I ask) the turtle's love."