Others, whom avaricious thoughts bewitch,
Confume their time to multiply their gains;
And, fancying wretched all that are not rich,
Neglect the end of life to get the means.
Others the name of pleasure does invite,
All their dull time in fenfual joys they live;
And hope to gain that folid firm delight
By vice, which innocence alone can give.
But how perplext, alas! is human fate!

I, whom nor avarice nor pleasures move,
Who view with fcorn the trophies of the great,
Yet must myself be made a flave to love.
If this dire paffion never will be gone,

If beauty always must my heart enthral,
Oh! rather let me be confin'd to one

Than madly thus be made a prey to all!

One who has early known the pomps of state

(For things unknown 'tis ignorance to condemn); And after having view'd the gaudy bait,

Can boldly fay, The Trifle I contemn.

In her bleft arms contented could 1 live,

Contented could I die: but oh! my mind
I feed with fancies, and my thoughts deceive,
With hope of things impoffible to find.
In women how should sense and beauty meet?
The wifeft men their youth in follies spend ;
The beft is he that earliest finds the cheat,

And fees his errors while there 's time to mend.
THE

THE DESPAIRING LOVER.

DISTRACTED with care

For Phyllis the fair,

Since nothing could move her,

Poor Damon, her lover,

Refolves in despair

No longer to languish,

Nor bear fo much anguish;

But, mad with his love,
To a precipice goes,

Where a leap from above

Would foon finish his woes.

When in rage he came there,
Beholding how steep

The fides did appear,

And the bottom how deep;

His torments projecting,

And fadly reflecting,

That a lover forfaken

A new love may get,

But a neck when once broken

Can never be fet;

And, that he could die
Whenever he would,
But, that he could live

But as long as he could:

How

How grievous foever

The torment might grow,

He fcorn'd to endeavour

To finish it fo.

But bold, unconcern'd
At thoughts of the pain,

He calmly return'd

To his cottage again.

S

N

G,

OF

Fall the torments, all the cares,
With which our lives are curft;
Of all the plagues a lover bears,

Sure rivals are the worst!
By partners, in each other kind,
Afflictions cafier grow;
In love alone we hate to find
Companions of our woe.

Sylvia, for all the pangs you fee
Are labouring in my breast;
I beg not you would favour me,
Would you but flight the rest!
How great foe'er your rigours are,
With them alone I'll cope;

I can endure my own defpair,
But not another's hope.

A SONG

A SONG TO PHYLLIS.

I.

PHYLLIS, we not grieve that Nature,

Forming you, has done her part;

And in every fingle feature

Shew'd the utmost of her art.

Love's a fenfelefs inclination,

Where no mercy 's to be found; But is juft, where kind compaffion Gives us balm to heal the wound.

IV.

Perfians, paying folemn duty,
To the rifing Sun inclin❜d,
Never would adore his beauty,
But in hopes to make him kind.

PHYLLIS'S RESOLUTION.

I.

WHEN flaves their liberty require,

They hope no more to gain,

But you not only that defire,

But ask the power to reign.

II. Think

II.

Think how unjust a suit you make,
Then you will foon decline;

Your freedom, when you please, pray take,
But trefpafs not on mine.

III.

No more in vain, Alcander, crave,
I ne'er will grant the thing,
That he, who once has been my slave,
Should ever be my king.

AN

EPISTLE,

To a LADY who had refolved against MARRIAGE.

MADAM, I cannot but congratulate

Your refolution for a fingle ftate;

Ladies, who would live undisturb'd and free,
Muft never put on Hymen's livery ;
Perhaps its outside feems to promise fair,
But underneath is nothing else but care.
If once you let the Gordian Knot be ty'd,
Which turns the name of virgin into bride;
That one fond act your life's best scene foregoes,
And leads you in a labyrinth of woes,
Whose strange meanders you may search about,
But never find the clue to let you out.
The married life affords you little ease,
The best of husbands is fo hard to please:

This