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FLA VI A.
F two reliefs to ease a love-fick mind.
Flavia prescribes defpair: I urge, be kind. Flavia be kind; the remedy 's as fure,
'Tis the most pleasant, and the quickest cure.
OVE is begot by Fancy, bred
By Ignorance, by Expectation fed ; Destroy'd by Knowledge, and at best Loft in the moment 'tis possest.
WOMEN to cards may be compar'd; we play
A round or two; when us'd, we throw away;
Take a fresh pack; nor is it worth our grieving,
OVE is by Fancy led about,
From Hope to Fear, from Joy to Doubt;
Divinely grac'd in every feature,
Strait's a deform'd, a perjur'd creature:
Love and Hate are fancy all.
'Tis but as Fancy shall present
Objects of grief, or of content,
That the lover's bleft, or dies; Vifions of mighty pains, or pleasure, Imagin'd want, imagin'd treafure, All in powerful Fancy lies.
HOUGH fafe thou think'ft thy treasure lies,
A fire may come, and it may be
Bury'd, my friend, as far from thee.
Thy veffel that yon ocean stems,
Pimps, whores, and bawds, a tharkless crew,
All help by feveral ways to drain,
Thanking themselves for what they gain.
The liberal are fecure alone,
For what we frankly give, for ever is our own.
Written in CLARINDA's Prayer-Book.
IN vain, Clarinda, night and day
For mercy to the gods you pray: What arrogance on heaven to call For that, which you deny to All!
FULV I A.
WHY pines my dear? to Fulvia, his young bride,
Who penfive fat, thus aged Cornus cry'd.
Alas! faid fhe, fuch vifions break my reft,
Hard prefs'd, fhe yields: from White's, or Will's, or
No matter wnich, he's fummon'd, and he comes.
The careful husband, with a kind embrace,
Entreats his care; then bows, and quits the place;
Something the dame would fay: the ready knight Prevents her speech---Here's that shall set you right; Madam, faid he---with that the door's made close, He gives deliciously the healing dofe.
Alas! fhe cries; ah me! ah cruel cure!
Did ever woman yet like me endure !
The work perform'd; uprising gay and light,
Thrice happy I ! what a brave man is this!
TO CEL I A.
WHY, cruel creature, why fo bent
To vex a tender heart?
To gold and title you relent,
Love throws in vain his dart.
Let glittering fools in courts be great
For pay let armies move;
Beauty fhould have no other bait
But gentle vows and love.
If on thofe endless charms you lay
Kings are themselves too poor to pay,
A thousand worlds too few.
But if a paffion without vice,
Ah, Celia! if true love's your price,
WHEN we behold her angel-face,
Or when the fings with heavenly grace,
In what we hear, and what we see,
So ravishing's the harmony,
The melting foul, in rapture loft,
Knows not which charm enchants it moft.
Sounds that made hills and rocks rejoice,