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LARINDA, with a haughty grace,

In scornful postures sets her face,
And looks as she were born alone
To give us love, and take from none.
Though I adore to that degree,
Clarinda, I would die for thee,
If you 're too proud to ease my pain,
I am too proud for your

disdain,

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CH
YLEOR A has her wish, she weds a peer,

Her weighty train two pages scarce can bear,
Persia and both the Indies must provide
To grace her pomp and gratify her pride;
Of rich brocade a shining robe she wears,
And gems surround her lovely neck like stars :
Drawn by fix greys of the proud Belgian kind,
With a long train of livery beaux behind,
She charms the Park, and sets all hearts on fire,
The ladies' envy, and the mens' desire.
Beholding thus, O happy as a queen!
We cry: but shift the gaudy flattering scene,
View her at home in her domestic light,
For thither the must come, at least at night.

What

What has she there? a surly, ill-bred lord,
That chides, and snaps her up at every word ;
A brutal fot, who, while she holds his head,
With drunken filth bedaubs the nuptial bed :
Sick to the heart, she breathes the nauseous fume
Of odious steams that poison all the room :
Weeping all night the trembling creature lies,
And counts the tedious hours when the

may

rise : But moit the fears, ieft waking she thould find, To make amends, the monster would be kind : Those matchless beauties, worthy of a god, Must bear, though much averse, the loathsome load. What then may be the chance that next ensues ? Some vile disease fresh reeking from the stews : The secret venom, circling in her veins, Works through her skin, and bursts in bloating Itains; Her cheeks their freshness lose, and wonted grace, And an unusual paleness spreads her face ; Her eyes grow dim, and her corrupted breath Tainting her gums, infects her ivory teeth; Of sharp nocturnal anguish the complains, And, guiltless of the cause, relates her pains. The conscious husband, whom like symptoms seize, Charges on her the guilt of their disease, Aflecting fury, acts a madman's part, He'll rip the fatal secret from her heart ! Bids her confefs, calls her ten thousand names, In vain the kneels, she weeps, protests, exclaims; Scarce with her life lhe 'scapes, expos’d to shame, In body tortur'd, murder'd in her fame, Rots with a vile adulteress's name ;

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Abandon'd by her friends, without defence,
And happy only in her innocence.

Such is the vengeance the just gods provide
For those who barter liberty for pride ;
Who impiously invoke the powers above
To witness to false vows of mutual love,
Thousands of poor Cleora’s may be found,
Such husbands and such wretched wives abound,

Ye guardian powers, the arbiters of bliss,
Preferve Clarinda from a fate like this:
You form'd her fair, not any grace deny d,
But gave, alas ! a spark too much of pride;
Reform that failing, and protect her still,
O save her from the curse of chufing ill.
Deem it not envy, or a jealous care,
That moves these wishes, or provokes this prayera
Though niore than death I dread to see those charms
Allotted to some happier mortal's arms;
Tormenting thought! yet could I bear that pain,
Or any ill, but hearing her complain ;
Intent on her, my love forgets his own,
Nor frames one with but for her fake alone ;
Whome'er the gods have destin’d to prefer,
They cannot make me wretched, blessing her.

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THAT

HAT Macro's looks are good, let no man doubt,

Which I, his friend and servant, thus make out. On his dark forehead a false friend is writ, Let none condemn the light that shews a pit. Cocles, whose face finds credit for his heart, Who can escape so smooth a villain's art ? Adorn’d with every grace that can persuade, Sceing, we trust; and, trusting, are betray'd! His looks are snares; but Macro's cry beware, Believe not, though ten thousand oaths he fwear. If thou’rt deceiv'd, observing well this rule, Not Macro is the knave, but thou the fool. In this one point he and his looks agree, As they betray their master, fo did he.

PHYLLIS DRINKING. WHILE Phyllis is drinking, Love and Wine in

alliance, With forces united bid resistless defiance; By the touch of her lips the wine sparkles higher, And her eyes by her drinking redouble their fire. Her cheeks glow the brighter, recruiting their colour, As flowers by sprinkling revive with fresh odour ; His dart dipt in wine, Love wounds beyond curing, And the liquor, like oil, makes the flame more enduring.

By

By cordials of wine, love is kept from expiring,
And our mirth is enliven’d by love and desiring ;
Relieving each other, the pleasure is lasting,
And we never are cloy’d, yet are ever a tasting.
Then Phyllis begin, let our raptures abound,
And a kiss and a glass be still going round ;
Our joys are immortal while thus we remove
From love to the bottle, from the bottle to love.

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IMPATIENT with desire, at last

I ventur'd to lay forms aside :
'Twas I was modest, not the chaste ;

Celia, fo gently press’d, comply'd.
With idle awe, an amorous fool,
I gaz'd upon

her
eyes

with fear;
Say, Love, how came your slave so dull

To read no better there?

Thus, to ourselves the greatest foes,

Although the nymph be well inclin'd, For want of courage to propose,

By our own folly she's unkind.

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