All the joys he drain'd before:

Death come end me,

To befriend me;

Love and Damon are no more!

OBSERVE the numerous ftars which grace

The fair expanded skies;

So many charms has Lesbia's face,
A thousand more her eyes.

Whene'er the beauteous maid

appears,

We cannot but admire ;

But, when she speaks, the charms our ears,
And fets our fouls on fire.

What pity 'tis, a creature
By nature form'd so fair,
Divine in every feature,

Shou'd give mankind despair :
She gazes all around her,

And gains a thousand hearts; But Cupid cannot wound her, For fhe has all his darts.

ON

ON the bank of a river, clofe under the shade,

Young Cleon and Sylvia one evening were laid; The youth pleaded ftrongly for proof of his love; But honour had won her his flame to reprove. She cry'd, where's the luftre, when clouds hade the Or what is rich nectar, the tafte being gone? (fun; 'Mongst flow'rs on the stalk sweetest odours do dwell, But if gather'd, the rofe itself lofes the fmell,

Thou dearest of nymphs, the brisk fhepherd reply'd If e'er thou wilt argue, begin on love's fide: In matters of ftate let grave reafon be shown, But love is a pow'r will be ruled by none; Nor fhou'd a coy beauty be counted fo rare, For fcandal can blaft both the chafte and the fair. Moft fierce are the joys love's alembick do fill, And the rofes are sweetest when put to the still.

BEHOLD, and liften, while the fair

Breaks, in fweet founds, the willing air;
And with her own breath fans the fire,
Which her bright eyes did first inspire:
What reason can that love controul,
Which two fuch ways commands the foul?

WHAT

WHAT man, in his wits, had not rather be poor,

Than for lucre his freedom to give?

Ever bufy, the means of his life to fecure,
And fo ever neglecting to live.

Inviron'd, from morning to night, in a crowd,
Not a moment urbent, or alone :

Constrain'd to be abject, tho' never so proud;
And at every one's call, but his own.

Still repining, and longing for quiet each hour,
Yet ftudiously flying it still;

With the means of enjoying his wifh in his power,
But accurft with his wanting the will.

For a year must be past, or a day must be come,
Before he has leisure to rest :

He must add to his store, this or that pretty fum;
And then will have time to be bleft.

But his gains, more bewitching the more they in-. Only fwell the defire of his eye:

(creafe, Such a wretch let mine enemy live, if he please; Let not even mine enemy die.

AT

T length, my cruel fair, give o'er

AT

Your frowns, and eafe my pain;
Tho' for a while the heavens lour,
Yet foon they smile again.

The lightning not inceffant flies,
It quickly fpends its ire;

But ftill you blast me from your eyes
With angry fhafts of fire.

E'en Tityus and Prometheus find,
From their wing'd foe, fome reft;
But love, not as the vulture kind,
For ever gnaws my breaft.
Sometimes Ixion rest obtains,
His whirling torments ceafe;
But an eternal round of pains
Ne'er lets me taste of eafe.

The weary Sisyphus forbears
Sometimes to heave his stone;
But I beneath a weight of cares
Am ever doom'd to groan.
One only hope for me remains,

Which from those wretches flies;

Kind death will free me from my chains;

Death more than love I prize.

STREPHON, returning from the town,

Came mufing to a neighb'ring grove ; Where in the shades he laid him down, And to himself thus talk'd of love:

'Twas in the golden age, faid he, That Cupid held a peaceful reign; He exercis'd no tyranny,

Nor cou'd his fubjects then complain.
The innocent and faithful fwain,

Not ty'd to rules of birth and state,
With freedom rambled o'er the plain,
And like the turtle chofe his mate:
The nymph comply'd without controul,
By her own fancy only led;
And never any fad complaint
Disturb'd the happy lovers bed.
But oh! the golden age is gone,
And Cupid's laws are not the fame;
Love is an empty name alone,

And fate and fortune play the game.
And muft it thus for ever be?

Will those blest days return no more? Then thoughts of love disturb not me, I'll from this minute give you o'er.

On