From place to place I folitary roam,
Abroad uneafy, not content at home.
I fcorn the beauties common eyes adore,

The more I view them, feel thy worth the more;
Unmov'd I hear them speak, or see them fair,
And only think on thee-who art not there.
In vain would books their formal fuccour lend,
Nor wit, nor wisdom, can relieve their friend;
Wit can't deceive the pain I now endure,
And wisdom fhews the ill without the cure.
When from thy fight I waste the tedious day,
A thousand schemes I form, and things to fay;
But when thy presence gives the time I seek,
My Heart's fo full, I wish, but cannot speak.
And could I speak with eloquence and ease,
"Till now not tedious of the art to please,
Could I, at woman, who so oft exclaim,

Expose (nor blufh) thy triumph and my shame,

companion of Cobham, Lyttelton, and Chesterfield. He is faid to have divided his life between pleasure and books, in his retirement forgetting the town, and in his gaiety lofing the ftudent. Of his literary hours, The Love Elegies and the prefent Poem are the most material. In 1741 he was chofen into Parliament for Truro in Cornwall; being probably one of those who were elected by the Prince's influence; and died next year in June, at Stowe, the famous feat of the Lord Cobham. His mistress, the lady to whom this Elegy is addreffed, long out-lived him, and in 1779 died unmarried. The character which her lover bequeathed her was indeed not likely to attract courtship.

VOL. IV.

F

Abjure

Abjure thofe maxims I fo lately priz❜d,
And court that fex I foolishly defpis'd,
Own thou haft foften'd my obdurate mind,
And thou reveng'd the wrongs of womankind :
Loft were my words, and fruitless all my pain,
In vain to tell thee all I write in vain ;
My humble fighs fhall only reach thy ears,
And all my eloquence fhall be my tears.

And now (for more I never must pretend)
Hear me not as thy lover, but thy friend;
Thousands will fain thy little heart enfnare
(For without danger none like thee are fair;)
But wifely chufe who best deserves thy flame,
So fhall the choice itself become thy fame:
Nor yet defpife, though void of winning art,
The plain and honest courtship of the heart;
The skilful tongue in love's perfuafiye lore,
Though less it feels, will please and flatter more,
And meanly learned in that guilty trade
Can long abuse a fond, unthinking maid.
And fince their lips, fo knowing to deceive,
Thy unexperienc'd youth might foon believe,
And fince their tears in falfe fubmiffion drest
Might thaw the icy coldness of thy breast,
O! fhut thine eyes to fuch deceitful woe;
Caught by the beauty of thy butward show,
Like me they do not love, whate'er they seem,
Like me with paffion founded on esteem.

ANSWER

ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING LINES.

T

BY LORD HERVEY.

OO well these lines that fatal truth declare,

Which long I've known, yet now I blush to hear. But fay, what hopes thy fond ill-fated love,

What can it hope, though mutual it fhould prove?
This little form is fair in vain for you,

In vain for me thy honeft heart is true;
For would't thou fix dishonour on my name,
And give me up to penitence and shame ?
Or gild my ruin with the name of wife,
And make me a poor virtuous wretch for life?
Could't thou fubhit to wear the marriage chain,
(Too fure a cure for all thy present pain)
No faffron robe for us the godhead wears,

His torch inverted, and his face in tears.

Though every fofter wish were amply crown'd,

Love foon would cease to smile where Fortune frown'd: Then would thy foul my fond confent deplore,

And blame what it folicited before;

Thy own exhausted would reproach my truth,
And fay I had undone thy blinded youth;
F 2

That

That I had damp'd Ambition's nobler flame,
Eclips'd thy talents, and obfcur'd 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,
Afferting freedom, and enacting laws.

Or fay, at beft, that negatively kind
You only mourn'd, and filently repin'd ; ·
The jealous dæmons in my own fond breast
Would all these thoughts inceffantly suggest,

And all that sense must feel, though pity had supprest.
Yet added grief my apprehenfion fills

(If there can be addition to those ills)

When they fhall cry, whofe harsh reproof I dread,
""Twas thy own deed, thy folly on thy head!"
Age knows not to allow for thoughtless youth,
Nor pities tenderneís, nor honours truth;
Holds it romantic to confefs a heart,
And fays thofe virgins act a wifer part,
Who hofpitals and bedlams would explore
To find the rich, and only dread the poor;
Who legal prostitutes, for int'rest fake,
Clodios and Timons to their bofoms take,
And, if avenging heav'n permit increase,
People the world with folly and disease.
Thofe titles, deeds, and rent-rolls only wed,
Whilst the best bidder mounts the venal bed,

}

And the grave aunt and formal fire approve
This nuptual fale, this auction of their love.
But if regard to worth or sense be shown,
This 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 ufhers to my mind,
Of all the storms and quickfands 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.
Hear then the safe, the firm resolve I make,
Ne'er to encourage one I must forsake.
Whilst other maids a fhameless path pursue,
Neither to int'reft, nor to honour true,
And, proud to fwell 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,