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Then would thy soul my fond consent deplore,
And blame what it sollicited before ;
Thy own exhausted would reproach my truth,
And say I had undone thy blinded youth;

That I had damp'd Ambition's nobler fame, · Eclips'd thy talents, and obscurd thy fame;

To madrigals and odes that wit confin'd,
That would in fenates or in courts have shin'd,
Gloriously active in thy country's cause,
Asserting freedom, and enacting laws.

Or fay, at beft, that negatively kind
You only mourn'd, and silently repin'd;
The jealous dæmons in my own fond breast
Would all these thoughts inceffantly suggest,
And all that sense must feel, tho' pity had fupprest.)
Yet added grief my apprehension fills
(If there can be addition to those ills)
When they shall cry, whose harsh reproof I dread,
“ Twas thy own deed, thy folly on thy head !”
Age knows not to allow for thoughtless youth,
Nor pities tenderness, nor honours truth;
Holds it romantic to confess a heart,
And says those virgins act a wiser part
Who hospitals and bedlams would explore
To find the rich, and only dread the poor ;


Who legal prostitutes, for intrest fake,
Clodios and Timons to their bofoms take,
And, if avenging heav'n permit increase,
People the world with folly and disease.
Those titles, deeds, and rent-rolls only wed,
Whilst the best bidder mounts the venal bed,
And the grave aunt and formal fire approve
This nuptial sale, this auction of their love.
But if regard to worth or sense be shown,
That poor degenerate child her friends disown,
Who dares to deviate by a virtuous choice
From her great name's hereditary vice.

These scenes my prudence ushers to my mind,
Of all the storms and quicksands I must find,
If I embark upon this summer sea,
Where Flatt'ry smooths, and Pleasure gilds the way..
Had our ill fate ne'er blown thy dang'rous flame ,
Beyond the limits of a friend's cold name,
I might upon that score thy heart receive,
And with that guiltless name my own deceive ;
That commerce now in vain you recommend,
I dread the latent lover in the friend;
Of ignorance I want the poor excuse,
And know, I both must take, or both refuse.
F 4


Hear then the safe, the firm resolve I make,
Ne'er to encourage one I must forsake.
Whilst other maids a shameless path pursue,
Neither to int’rest, nor to honour true, .
And proud to swell the triumph of their eyes,
Exult in love from lovers they despise ;
Their maxims all revers’d I mean to prove,
And though I like the lover, quit the love.

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EPISTLES in the Manner of Ovid. MONIMIA to PHILOCLES.

By the Same.

INCE language never can describe my pain,
N How can I hope to move when I complain?
But such is woman's frenzy in distress, .
We love to plead, though hopeless of redress.

Perhaps, affecting ignorance, thou'lt say,
From whence these lines? whose message to convey ?
Mock not my grief with that feign'd cold demand,
Too well you know the hapless writer's hand :


But if you force me to avow my shame,
Behold it prefac'd with Monimia's name..

Lost to the world, abandon'd and forlorn,
Expos’d to infamy, reproach, and scorn,
To mirth and comfort loft, and all for you,
Yet loft, perhaps, to your remembrance too,
How hard my lot! what refuge can I try,
Weary of life, and yet afraid to die!
Of hope, the wretch's last resort, bereft,
By friends, by kindred, by my lover, left.
Oh! frail dependence of confiding fools !.
On lovers oaths, or friendship’s sacred rules,
How weak in modern hearts, too late I find,
Monimia's fall'n, and Philocles unkind!
To these reflections, each flow wearing day,
And each revolving night a constant prey,
Think what I suffer, nor ungentle hear
What madness dictates in my fond despair ;
Grudge not this short relief, (too fast it flies)
Nor chide that weakness I myself despise.
One moment sure may be at least her due,
Who sacrific'd her all of life for you.
Without a frown this farewel then receive,
For 'tis the last my hapless love shall give ;


Nor this I would, if reason could command,
But what restriction reins a lover's hand ?
Nor prudence, shame, nor pride, nor intrest fways,
The hand implicitly the heart obeys :
Too well this maxim has my conduct shewn,
Too well that conduct to the world is known.

Oft have I writ, and often to the fame
Condemn'd this after-witness of my shame;
Oft in my cooler recollected thought,
Thy beauties, and my fondness half forgot,
(How short those intervals for reason's aid !)
Thus to myself in anguish have I faid.

Thy vain remonftrance, foolish maid, give o'er,
Who act the wrong, can ne'er that wrong deplore.
Then fanguine hopes again delufive reign,
I form’d thee melting, as I tell my pain.
If not of rock thy flinty heart is made,
Nor tygers nurs’d thee in the defart shade,
Let me at least thy cold compaffion prove,
That Nender sustenance of greedy love:
Though no return my warmer wishes find,
Be to the wretch, though not the mistress, kind;
Nor whilft I court my melancholy state,
Forget ’twas love, and thee, that wrought my fate.


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