The Virginia Gazette

Mr. RIND,

By inserting the following you'll oblige your constant Reader.

ANSWER to the ACROSTICAL REBUS in the Gazette of June the 9th, 1768.

From these Initials, Sir, 'tis clear
Mis TAYLOR is th'ingenious FAIR.

A PASTORAL ANSWER to the REBUS
on the PLATE of FRUIT in Number 108, by PHILANDER.

D
A
M
O
N.

WAKE my Love! my sweet Celinda rise,
And see Aurora paint the eastern Skies;
O come and taste the Sweets of early Dawn,
While Silver Dew-Drops gild the verdant Lawn.
Thy Shepherd waits, and with Impatience too,
To kiss thy Lips—chaste as the Morning Dew
For sweeter than the Breath of Morn, is thine;
Each gay Carnation must to thee resign.

Arise my Fair, thy comely Charms display,
Which like glad Phœbus chear the op'ning Day.

C
E
L
I
N
D
A

I know to whom that tuneful Voice belongs,
Sweeter to me than Larks or Linnets Songs.
But oft, I'll not confess it,—though 'tis Truth;
I'll chide him,—that I will:—Ungen'rous Youth
Whoe'er thou art, thus to disturb my Rest,
Before the Bird of Dawn has left her Nest:
Fly from my Window, or by Heav'n I swear,
Thy vast Impertinence shall cost thee dear.

D
A
M
O
N.

Patience, sweet Maid:—And let thy Anger cease;
Thy constant Damon humbly sues for Peace;
No Dangers threaten to molest thy Charms;
He, gently comes to clasp you in his Arms;
Inviting thee, thy Garden Walks to tread,
Where Flow'rs and Fruit their pleasing Odours shed:
There press thy lily Hand, with Joy, in mine,
And like two tender Vines together twine.

C
E
L
I
N
D
A

Fie, Damon, fie!—Let not the Traitor's Vice,
Nor Flatt'ry be thy Morning Sacrifice:
But haste, and to my Garden Walks repair,
And when I'm drest, perhaps, I'll meet you there,
Gather that Fruit you think I most approve,
And thereby shew one Instance of your Love.

He's gone:—With what sweet Raptures beats my Heart!
Joyful I'll meet him—though 'tis Grief to part,

D
A
M
O
N.

Hail, fair Celinda!—at thy Entrance see
Each Flow'r bends its lovely Head to thee,
The Dewdrop too, at thy Approach rejoices,
And feather'd Songsters raise their tuneful Voices
See at thy Feet—the glitt'ring Gems of Morn,
Hear from the Woods the softly winding Horn:
Nature luxuriant bends the Boughs for thee,
And crowns with mellow Fruit each spreading Tree.
See in this Plate, which in my Hand I've got,
The Nonpareil sweet Peach and Apricot,
Gooseberries and Strawberries, Currants red and white
(Excuse me if I have not gather'd right)
The juicy Cherry and Pine Apple too,
All yield their charming Sweets, to pleasure you.
But see our Flocks forsaking yonder Plain,
We now must part!—at Eve we'll meet again.