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Exert, bright ftar, thy friendly light,
And guide me through the dusky night;
Defrauded of her beams, the Moon
Shines dim, and will be vanish'd foon.
I would not rob the fhepherd's fold;
I feek no mifer's hoarded gold;

To find a nymph, I'm forc'd to stray,
Who lately stole my heart away.

CON.

Р

PO E M S

B Y

WILLIAM WALSH, Efq.

1

PRE FA C E.

IT

T has been fo ufual among modern authors to write prefaces, that a man is thought rude to his reader, who does not give him fome account before-hand of what he is to expect in the book.

The greatest part of this collection confifts of amorous verfes. Those who are converfant with the writings of the ancients, will obferve a great difference between what they and the moderns have published upon this fubject. The occafions upon which the poems of the former are written, are fuch as happen to every man almost that is in love; and the thoughts fuch, as are natural for every man in love to think. The moderns, on the other hand, have fought out for occafions that none meet with but themselves; and fill their verses with thoughts that are furprizing and glittering, but not tender, paffionate, or natural to a man in love.

:

To judge which of these two are in the right; we ought to confider the end that people propofe in writing love verfes and that I take not to be the getting fame or admiration from the world, but the obtaining the love of their mistress; and the best way I conceive to make her love you, is to convince her that you love her. Now this certainly is not to be done by forced conceits, far-fetched fimilies, and shining points; but by a true and lively representation of the pains and thoughts attending such a paffion.

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