Here Betty may flaunt in her mistress's sack! Here Trip wear his master's brocade on his back! Here a hussy may ride, and a rogue take the wall;

Sing Tantarara,-Vauxhall! Vauxhall !

Here Beauty may grant, and here Valour may ask! Here the plainest may pass for a Belle (in a mask)

Here a domino covers the short and the tall ;— Sing Tantarara,-Vauxhall! Vauxhall!

'Tis a type of the world, with its drums and its din; 'Tis a type of the world, for when once you come in You are loth to go out; like the world 'tis a ball;—Sing Tantarara,-Vauxhall!

Vauxhall!

A LOVE-SONG

(XVIII. CENT.)

WHEN first in CELIA's ear I poured
A yet unpractised pray'r,

My trembling tongue sincere ignored
The aids of "sweet" and "fair."

I only said, as in me lay,

I'd strive her "worth

to reach ;

She frowned, and turned her eyes away,— So much for truth in speech.

Then DELIA came. I changed my plan; I praised her to her face;

I praised her features,—praised her fan,
Her lap-dog and her lace;

I swore that not till Time were dead
My passion should decay;

She, smiling, gave her hand, and said
"Twill last then-for a Day.

OF HIS MISTRESS

(After Anthony Hamilton)

TO G. S.

HE that I love is neither brown nor fair,

SHE

And, in a word her worth to say, There is no maid that with her may Compare.

Yet of her charms the count is clear, I ween:
There are five hundred things we see,
And then five hundred too there be,
Not seen.

Her wit, her wisdom are direct from Heaven:
But the sweet Graces from their store

A thousand finer touches more

Have given.

Her cheek's warm dye what painter's brush could note?

Beside her Flora would be wan

And white as whiteness of the swan

Her throat.

Her supple waist, her arm from Venus came,
Hebe her nose and lip confess,

And, looking in her eyes, you guess
Her name.

THE NAMELESS CHARM

ST

(Expanded from an Epigram of Piron)

TELLA, 'tis not your dainty head,
Your artless look, I own;

'Tis not your dear coquettish tread,
Or this, or that, alone;

Nor is it all your gifts combined;
'Tis something in your face,-
The untranslated, undefined,
Uncertainty of grace,

That taught the Boy on Ida's hill
To whom the meed was due;
All three have equal charms—but still
This one I give it to!