Next hand in hand the smiling Pair, _Martillo_, and the Lovely Fair: A Bright-Ey’d _Phillis_, who they say, Ne’er knew what Love was till to day: Long has the Gen’rous Youth in vain Implor’d some Pity for his Pain. Early abroad he would be seen, To wait her coming on the Green, To be the first that t’ her should pay The Tribute of the New-born Day; Presents her Bracelets with their Names, And Hooks carv’d out with Hearts and Flames. And when a stragling Lamb he saw, And she not by to give it Law, The pretty Fugitive he’d deck With Wreaths of Flowers around its Neck; And gave her ev’ry mark of Love, Before he could her Pity move. But now the Youth no more appears Clouded with Jealousies and Fears: Nor yet dares _Phillis_ softer Brow Wear Unconcern, or Coldness now; But makes him just and kind Returns; And as He does, so now She burns. _Mr._ J. H. Next _Lysidas_, that haughty Swain, With many Beauties in a Train, All sighing for the Swain, whilst he Barely returns Civility. Yet once to each much Love he Vowd, And strange Fantastique Passion show’d. Poor _Doris_, and _Lucinda_ too, And many more whom thou dost know, Who had not power his Charms to shun, Too late do find themselves Undone. His Eyes are Black, and do transcend All Fancy e’er can comprehend; And yet no Softness in ‘em move. They kill with Fierceness, not with Love: Yet he can dress ‘em when he list, With Sweetness none can e’er resist. His Tongue no Amorous Parley makes, But with his Looks alone he speaks. And though he languish yet he’l hide, That grateful knowledge with his Pride; And thinks his Liberty is lost, Not in the Conquest, but the Boast. Nor will but Love enough impart, To gain and to secure a heart: Of which no sooner he is sure, And that its Wounds are past all Cure. But for New Victories he prepares, And leaves the Old to its Despairs: Success his Boldness does renew, And Boldness helps him Conquer too, He having gain’d more hearts than all Th’ rest of the Pastoral Cabal. _Mr._ Ed. Bed.