Page:Poems upon Several Occasions.djvu/88

76 :Eternal Draughts will not suffice,
 * Ah give me, give me more, she cries,

'Tis all too little Measure.
 * Thus wisely she makes up for Time
 * Mis-spent, while Youth was in its Prime:
 * So Travellers who waste the Day
 * Careful and cautious of their Way,
 * Noting at length the setting Sun,
 * They mend their Pace at Night comes on,
 * Double their Speed to reach their Inn,
 * And whip and spur thro' thick and thin.

Elinda's Pride's an arrant Cheat,
 * A foolish Artifice to blind;

Some honest Glance, that scorns Deceit,
 * Does still reveal her native Mind.

With Look demure, and forc'd Disdain,
 * She idly acts the Saint;

We see thro' this Disguise, as plain
 * As we distinguish Paint.

The Pains she takes are vainly meant
 * To hide her amorous Heart,