Page:Pastorals Epistles Odes (1748).djvu/110

 

To Miss Charlotte Pulteney,
in her Mother's Arms.

May 1, 1724.

IMELY blossom, infant fair,
Fondling of a happy pair,
Every morn, and every night,
Their felicitous delight,4
Sleeping, waking, still at ease,
Pleasing, without skill to please,
Little gossip, blithe and hale,
Tailing many a broken tale,8
Singing many a tuneless song,
Lavish of a heedless tongue,
Simple maiden, void of art,
Babbling out the very heart,12
Yet abandon'd to thy will,
Yet imagining no ill,
Yet too innocent to blush,
Like the linlet in the bush,16

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