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F two reliefs to ease a love-fick mind.


Flavia prefcribes defpair: I urge, be kind.

Flavia be kind; the remedy 's as fure,

'Tis the most pleasant, and the quickest cure.

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LOVE is begot by Fancy, bred

By Ignorance, by Expectation fed; Destroy'd by Knowledge, and at best Loft in the moment 'tis poffeft.


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, Who cuts or shuffles with our dirty leaving.



OVE is by Fancy led about,

From Hope to Fear, from Joy to Doubt;
Whom we now a goddess call,

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 fhall 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 treasure, All in powerful Fancy lies.



'HOUGH fafe thou think'st thy treasure lies,
Conceal'd in chefts from human eyes,

A fire may come, and it may be

Bury'd, my friend, as far from thee.

Thy veffel that yon ocean stems,
Loaded with golden duft and gems,

Purchas'd with so much pains and cost,
Yet in a tempeft may be lost.

Pimps, whores, and bawds, a thankless crew,
Priefts, pick-pockets, and lawyers too,

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.

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Written in CLARINDA's Prayer-Book.

'N 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!


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,
The strangest thoughts! I think I am poffeft:
My fymptoms I have told a man of skill,
And---if I would---he fays---I might---be well:
Take his advice, faid he, my poor dear wife,
I'll buy at any rate thy precious life.
Blushing fhe would excufe, but all in vain,
A doctor must be fetch'd to eafe her pain.

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;
For little ailments oft' attend the fair,

Not decent for a husband's eye or ear.


Something the dame would fay: the ready knight Prevents her fpeech---Here's that shall fet you right; Madam, faid he---with that the door's made clofe, 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; uprifing gay and light,
Old Cornus is call'd in to fee the fight.
A fprightly red vermilion's all her face,
And her eyes languish with unusual grace.
With tears of joy fresh gushing from his eyes,
O wondrous power of art! old Cornus cries;
Amazing change! aftonishing fuccefs!

Thrice happy I! what a brave man is this!
Maids, wives, and widows, with like whims poffeft,
May thus find certain cafe---Probatum eft.



HY, 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

The value that's their due,
Kings are themselves too poor to pay,
A thousand worlds too few.

But if a paffion without vice,
Without disguise or art,

Ah, Celia! if true love's your price,
Behold it in my heart.



WHEN we behold her angel-face,

Or when the fings with heavenly grace,

In what we hear, and what we see,

So lavishing's the harmony,

The melting foul, in rapture loft,

Knows not which charm enchants it moft.

Sounds that made hills and rocks rejoice,
Amphion's lute, the Syren's voice,
Wonders with pain receiv'd for true,
At once find credit, and renew;
No charms like Celia's voice furprize,
Except the magic of her eyes.


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