XLVI.

Fair is the Lilly, clad in balmy Snow;
Sweet is the Rose, of Spring the smiling Eye;
Nipt by the Winds, their Heads the Lillies bow;
Cropt by the Hand, the Roses fade and dye.
Tho' now in Pride of Youth and Beauty drest,
O think, Ianthe , cruel Time lays waste
The Roses of the Cheek, the Lillies of the Breast.

LXVII.

Weep not; but, rather taught by this, improve
The present Freshness of thy springing Prime:
Bestow thy Graces on the God of Love ,
Too precious for the wither'd Arms of Time .
In chaste Endearments, innocently gay,
Ianthe! now, now love thy Spring away;
Ere cold October-blasts despoil the Bloom of May .

LXVIII.

Now up the Chalky Mazes of yon Hill,
With grateful Diligence, we wind our Way;
What op'ning Scenes our ravish'd Senses fill,
And, wide, their rural Luxury display!
Woods, Dales, and Flocks, and Herds, and Cots and Spires,
Villa's of learned Clerks, and gentle Squires;
The Villa of a Friend the Eye-sight never tires.

LXIX.

If er'e to Thee and Venus , May , I strung
The gladsome Lyre, when Livelood swell'd my Veins,
And Eden 's Nymphs and Isis Damsels sung
In tender Elegy, and Pastoral-strains;
Collect and shed thyself on Theron 's Bowr's,
O green his Gardens, O perfume his Flow'rs,
O bless his Morning-walks and sooth his Ev'ning-hours.

LXX.

Long, Theron , with thy Annabell enjoy
The Walks of Nature, still to Virtue kind,
For sacred solitude can never cloy;
The Wisdom of an uncorrupted Mind!
O very long may Hymen 's golden Chain
To Earth confine you and the Rural-reign;
Then soar, at length, to Heaven! nor pray, O Muse, in vain.