With whom the young _Amyntas_ came, The Author of my Sighs and Flame: For I’ll confess that Truth to you, Which every Look of mine can show. Ah how unlike the rest he appears! With Majesty above his years! His Eyes so much of Sweetness dress, Such _Wit_, such _Vigour_ too express; That ‘twou’d a wonder be to say, I’ve seen the Youth, and brought my Heart away. Ah _Cloris_! Thou that never wert In danger yet to lose a Heart, Guard it severely now, for he Will startle all thy Constancy: For if by chance thou do’st escape Unwounded by his Lovely Shape, Tempt not thy Ruine, lest his Eyes Joyn with his Tongue to win the Prize: Such Softness in his Language dwells, And Tales of Love so well he tells, Should’st thou attend their Harmony, Thou’dst be Undone, as well as I; For sure no Nymph was ever free, That could _Amyntas_ hear and see. _Mr._ N. R. V. With him the lovely _Philocless_, His Beauty heightned by his Dress, If any thing can add a Grace To such a Shape, and such a Face, Whose Natural Ornaments impart Enough without the help of Art. His Shoulders cover’d with a Hair, The Sun-Beams are not half so fair; Of which the Virgins Bracelets make, And where for _Philocless’s_ sake: His Beauty such, that one would swear His face did never take the Air. On’s Cheeks the blushing Roses show, The rest like whitest Daisies grow: His Lips, no Berries of the Field, Nor Cherries, such a Red do yield. His Eyes all Love, Soft’ning Smile; And when he speaks, he sighs the while: His Bashful Grace, with Blushes too, Gains more then Confidence can do. With all these Charms he does invade The Heart, which when he has betray’d, He slights the Trophies he has won, And weeps for those he has Undone; As if he never did intend His Charms for so severe an End. And all poor _Amoret_ can gain, Is pitty from the Lovely Swain: And if Inconstancy can seem Agreeable, ‘tis so in him. And when he meets Reproach for it, He does excuse it with his Wit. _Mr._ E. B. _and Mrs._ F. M.