TO VIMU AMBORLIAD

XXXI. The Devonshire Nymph: Or The Knight's happy Choice. Shewing how a young rich Knight fell in Love with the Daughter of a poor Weaver of Devonshire, and for her Beauty and Virtue marry'd her.

To the Tune of, Tender Hearts of London City.

The many Beauties, as well as Scarcity of this Song, justly entitles it to a Place in this Collection; for having heard of it, I made it my Bulness to fearch the whole Town over for it, but all in vain, till meeting with a Gentlewoman who us'd to fing it, The favour'd me with a Copy of it. Its Beauties I will not pretend to point out; they are fo obvious, and indeed fo frequent, that we have not time to admire one, before another prefents itself to our Eyes; and I believe thofe who are acquainted with Nature and eafy Poetry, will acknowledge they have them here in their utmost Perfection. How

However, I cannot forbear taking Notice of a beautiful Imitation of one of Martial's beft Epigrams, in the three first lines of the fecond Stanza: The Epigram is this:

Quicquid agit Rufus, nihil eft, nifi Navia Rufo Si gaudet, fi flet, fi tacet, hanc loquitur: Cœnat, propinat, pofcit, negat, annuit, una est Navia: Si non fit Navia, mutus erit. Scriberet hefternâ Patri, cum luce falutem, Navia lux, inquit, Navia numen, ave. For the Benefit of my Female Readers, I fhall give a Tranflation of this Epigram by a famous modern Hand, or rather an Imitation of it, for it is impoffible to tranflate the Beauties of the fecond Line.

Let Rufus weep, rejoice, ftand, fit or walk, Still he can nothing but of Navia talk: Let him eat, drink, ask Queftions, or difpute, Still he must talk of Navia, or be mute. He writ to's Father, ending with this Line, I am, my lovely Navia, ever thine.

N the Weft of Devonshire,

Liv'd a Maid of Beauty rare,
Pretty Peggy was her Name;
Ev'ry Creature lov'd her Nature,
Peggy there had all the Fame.

Wherefoever I am walking,
Or of whatsoever talking,

Pretty Peggy must come in,

She has fo much Duty, and fo much Beauty,

Not to worship were a Sin.

Fame

Fame that oftentimes doth flatter,
Told the Truth of all the Matter,
To a young and Worthy Knight,
One lov'd Pleasure, more than Treasure,
Beauty was his fole Delight.

Strait in Love he was involved,
And to try he was refolved,

Whether Peggy would be kind
But he did never meet with ever

Such a Face, and such a Mind.

When he first beheld the Creature,
All her Charms were lent by Nature,
Neither Spots nor Tower she wore,
But she was finging, and a spining,
At her poor old Father's Door.

When she saw him the retired,
But his Senfes all were fired

At the little Interview:

Oh! ftay, he said, thou lovely Maid,
For now I fwear Report is true.

Straitway then he did pursue her,
And with all his Art did woe her,'
Kifs'd her Hands, and bless'd her Eyes,
Proferr'd Treasure for his Pleasure,
But, alas, fhe all denies.

Golden Promises he made her,

And with Vows he did perfwade her,
But her Virtue was so strong,
That all his Art ne'er touch'd her Heart,
Altho' poor Peggy was but young.

Dearest Charmer be not cruel,
To yourself and me my Jewel,

Leave your homely rural Sport,

And be but mine, and thou shalt shine
Amongst the glorious Stars at Court.

All