SOUND a parly, ye fair, and surrender;
Set your felves and your lovers at ease:
He's a grateful, a grateful offender,

Who pleasure dares feize;

But the whining pretender
Is fure to displease.

Since the fruit of defire is poffeffing,
'Tis unmanly to figh and complain :
When we kneel for redreffing,

We move your disdain: Love was made for a bleffing, And not for a pain.,

SWEET

Prefenting a Mask.

WEET Lydia, take this mask, and shroud
Thy face within the filken cloud,

And veil those pow'rful skies:

For he whose gazing dares fo high aspire,
Makes burning glasses of his eyes,

And fets his heart on fire.

Veil, Lydia, veil; for unto me
There is no bafilisk but thee;

Thy very looks do kill:

Yet in those looks fo fixt is my delight,
Poor foul (alas') I languish still,
In abfence of thy fight.

Clofe up thofe eyes; or we fhall find
Too great a luftre ftrike us blind!
Or, if a ray fo good

Ought to be seen, let it but then appear
When eagles do produce their brood,

To try their young ones there.

Or, if thou would'st have me to know
How great a brightness thou can'st show,

When they have loft the fun;

Then do thou rife, and give the world this theme,

Sol from th' Hefperides is run,

And back hath whipt his team.

Yet

Yet thro' the Goat when he fhall ftray,

Thou thro' the Crab must take thy way;
For fhou'd you both shine bright

In the fame Tropick, we, poor moles, fhou'd get Not fo much comfort by thy light,

As torment by the heat.

Where's Lydia now? where fhall I feek
Her charming lip, her tempting cheek,
That my affection bow'd?

So dark a fable hath eclips'd my fair,
That I can gaze upon the cloud,
That durft not see the star.

But yet, methinks, my thoughts begin
To say there lies a white within,

Tho' black her pride controul:

And what care I how black a face I fee,
So there be whiteness in the foul,
Still fuch an Ethiop be,

VOL. II

HOW

D

HOW can they taste of joys or grief,
Who beauty's pow'r did never prove?

Love's all our torment, our relief;
Our fate depends alone on love.

Were I in heavy chains confin'd,

Neara's fmiles wou'd ease that state;
Nor wealth, nor pow'r, cou'd bless my mind,
Curs'd by her abfence, or her hate.

Of all the plants which fhade the field,
The fragrant myrtle does furpass;"
No flow'r fo gay, that does not yield.
To blooming roses gaudy drefs.

No star so bright, that can be seen,
When Phebus' glories gild the skies ;
No nymph fo proud adorns the green,
But yields to fair Neara's eyes.

The amorous fwains no offerings bring
To Cupid's altar, as before;

To her they play, to her they fing,
And own in love no other pow'r

If thou thy empire wilt regain,
On thy conqeuror try thy dart;
Touch, with pity for my pain,
**Neara's cold disdainful heart.

A

I GO to the Elysian fhade,

Where forrow ne'er fhall wound me;

Where nothing fhall my reft invade;

But joy shall still furround me.

I fly from Celia's cold difdain;
From her disdain I fly;

She is the cause of all my pain;
For her alone I die.

Her eyes are brighter than the mid-day fun,
When he but half. his radiant course has run;
When his meridian glories gaily fhine,
And gild all nature with a warmth divine.

See yonder river's flowing tide,

Which now fo full appears;

Those streams, that do fo fwiftly glide,
Are nothing but my tears.

There have I wept, till I cou'd weep no more, And curft mine eyes when they have shed their store; Then, like the clouds that rob the azure main, I've drain'd the flood, to weep it back again.