Part 4 — EPIGRAMS OF EDMUND WALLEB.

A PAINTED LADY WITH ILL TEETH.

Were men so dull they could not see That Lyce painted; should they flee, Like simple birds, into a net, So grossly woven, and ill set, Her own teeth would undo the knot, And let all go that she had got. Those teeth fair Lyce must not show, If she would bite: her lovers, though Like birds they stoop at seeming grapes, Are dis-abus'd, when first she gapes: The rotten bones discover'd there, Show 'tis a painted sepulcher.

OF THE MARRIAGE OF THE DWARFS.

Design, or chance, makes others wive; But nature did this match contrive: EVE might as well have ADAM fled, As she denied her little bed To him, for whom heav'n seem'd to frame, And measure out, this only dame. Thrice happy is that humble pair, Beneath the level of all care! Over whose heads those arrows fly Of sad distrust, and jealousy: Secured in as high extreme, As if the world held none but them. To him the fairest nymphs do show Like moving mountains, topp'd with snow: And ev'ry man a POLYPHEME Does to his GALATEA seem; None may presume her faith to prove; He proffers death that proffers love. Ah CHLORIS! that kind nature thus From all the world had sever'd us: Creating for ourselves us two, As love has me for only you!