ABSTRACT
F a l l a c io u s Nymph, who here by Stealth Would seem to be the Goddess H e a l t h ! Mask’d with that divine Disguise, Think’st thou to scape Poetick Eyes? Back, Siren-for, I know, thou stray’d From the harmonious Ambuscade, Where many a Traveller that took The Invitation of thy Look, Has felt the Coz’nage of thy Charms, Tickled to Death within thine Arms. Know, that I saw you yester Night, At once with Horror and Delight, Drag Luna from her heavenly Frame, And outshine her when she came. Yes, Inchantress, I can tell How by the Virtue of a Spell, Cloath’d like Cherub-Innocence, Here you fix your Residence, That securely you may mix Your Philtres in the Streams of Styx; And have at Hand, in every Part, Materials for your magic Art; Fossils, Fungus’s, and Flow’rs, With all the fascinating Pow’rs.— God of the prescribing Trade, Doctor Phoebus, lend thine Aid; If thou’lt some antidote devise, I’ll call thee Harvey of the Skies; Or (for at one Glance thou can’st see All that is, or that shall be, Intentions ripening into Act, And Plans emerging up to Fact,)
Look in her Eyes, and thence explain All the Mischief that they mean. Say in what Grove, and near what Trees Will she seek th’ Hippomanes; There, there I’ll meet her,—there I’ll try Th’ asswasive Pow’r of Harmony. I think, I’ve got an Amulet, That will her Rage a while abate. No-all resistance is in vainCharmer, I yield-I hug my C h a in - Alas!—I see ’tis to no End With such Puissance to contend; For since continually you dwell In that Apothecary’s Cell, And While so studiously you pry Into the sage Dispensary, And read so many Doctor’s Bill, You learn infallibly to kill.—
The Museum 1746
Thron’d in his Amber Chariot; Sees not an Object half so bright, Nor gives such Joy, such Life, such Light,
As dear delicious Harriote.
