SEE HOW FAIR CORINNA LIES.

SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE.

See, how fair Corinna lies,
Kindly calling with her eyes:
In the tender minute prove her;
Shepherd! why so dull a lover
Prithee, why so dull a lover.

In her blushes see your shame,-
Anger they with love proclaim;
You too coldly entertain her :
Lay your pipe a little by;
If no other charms you try,
You will never, never gain her.

While the happy minute is,
Court her, you may get a kiss,
May be, favours that are greater:
Leave your piping to her fly;
When the nymph for love is nigh,
Is it with a tune you treat her?

Dull Amintor! fie, Oh! fie:
Now your Shepherdess is nigh
Can you pass your time no better.

[In Southern's "Disappointment, or the Mother in Fashion."]

ON A YOUNG LADY WHO SUNG FINELY, AND WAS AFRAID OF A COLD.

LORD ROSCOMMON.

Died 1684.

Winter, thy cruelty extend,
Till fatal tempests swell the sea,
In vain let sinking pilots pray;
Beneath thy yoke let nature bend,
Let piercing frost, and lasting snow,
Through woods and fields destruction sow!

Yet we unwoo'd will sit and smile,
While you these lesser ills create,
These we can bear; but gentle Fate,

And thou, bless'd genius of our isle,
From Winter's rage defend her voice,
At which the listening Gods rejoice.

May that celestial sound each day
With ecstacy transport our souls,
Whilst all our passion it controuls,

And kindly drives our cares away;
Let no ungentle cold destroy
All taste we have of heavenly joy!

[The Life of the Earl of Roscommon has been written with great elegance by Dr. Johnson. He was born in Ireland during the lieu tenancy of his Uncle and Godfather Lord Strafford.]

TO ALL YOU LADIES NOW AT LAND.

LORD DORSET.

Born 1637-Died 1706.

To all you Ladies now at land,
We men at sea indite;

But first would have you understand

How hard it is to write;

The muses, now, and Neptune too,
We must implore to write to you.
With a fa la, la, la, la.

For though the muses should prove kind,
And fill our empty brain;

Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind
To wave the azure main,

Our paper, pen, and ink, and we,

Roll up and down our ships at sea.
With a fa, &c.

Then, if we write not by each post,
Think not we are unkind;
Nor yet conclude our ships are lost
By Dutchmen or by wind:

Our tears we'll send a speedier way,
The tide shall bring them twice a day.
With a fa, &c.

The king, with wonder and surprise,
Will swear the seas grow bold;
Because the tides will higher rise
Than e'er they did of old:

But let him know it is our tears

Bring floods of grief to Whitehall-stairs.
With a fa, &c.

Should foggy Opdam chance to know
Our sad and dismal story;

The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe,

And quit their fort at Goree :

For what resistance can they find

From men who've left their hearts behind?

With a fa, &c.

Let wind and weather do its worst,

Be ye to us but kind;

Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse,
No sorrow we shall find:

'Tis then no matter how things go,

Or who's our friend, or who's our foe.
With a fa, &c.

To pass our tedious hours away,

We throw a merry main,

Or else at serious ombre play;
But why should we in vain
Each other's ruin thus pursue?
We were undone when we left you.
With a fa, &c.

But now our fears tempestuous grow,
And cast our hopes away;

Whilst you, regardless of our woe,
Sit careless at a play;

Perhaps permit some happier man
To kiss your hand, or flirt your fan.
With a fa, &c.

When

any mournful tune you hear,
That dies in every note,

As if it sigh'd with each man's care
For being so remote;

Think then how often love we've made
To you, when all those tunes were play'd.
With a fa, &c.

And now we've told you all our loves,
And likewise all our fears;
In hopes this declaration moves

Some pity for our tears,

Let's hear of no

inconstancy,

We have too much of that at sea.

With a fa, la, la, la, la.

[This Song" written at sea, in the first Dutch war, 1665, the night before an Engagement," is the composition of Charles, Sixth Earl

of Dorset, according to Horace Walpole,

"the finest gentleman in

the voluptuous court of Charles II." Dr. Johnson heard from Lord Orrery that "he had been a week about it and only retouched it or finished it on the memorable Evening."

See Johnson's Life of

Dorset. "The grace of courts, the Muses pride."]