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EAUTY! thou wild fantastic ape,

Who doft in every country change thy shape!

Here black, there brown, here tawny, and there white ; Thou flatterer! which comply'ft with every fight! Thou Babel, which confound'st the eye

With unintelligible variety!

Who haft no certain What, nor Where; But vary'ft ftill, and doft thyself declare Inconftant, as thy fhe-profeffors are.

Beauty! Love's scene and mafquerade,

So gay by well-plac'd lights and distance made;
Falfe coin, with which th' impoftor cheats us still;
The ftamp and colour good, but metal ill!
Which light or bafe we find, when we
Weigh by enjoyment, and examine thee!
For, though thy being be but fhow,
'Tis chiefly night which men to thee allow :
And chufe t' enjoy thee, when thou leaft art Thou.

Beauty! thou active, paffive ill!

Which dy'st thyself as faft as thou dost kill!
Thou tulip, who thy stock in paint dost waste,
Neither for phyfic good, nor fmell, nor taste.

Beauty! whofe flames but meteors are,
Short-liv'd and low, though thou would'st seem a star ;
Who dar'ft not thine own home descry,

Pretending to dwell richly in the eye,
When thou, alas! doft in the fancy lie.


Beauty! whofe conquests still are made O'er hearts by cowards kept, or else betray'd; Weak victor! who thyself destroy'd must be When Sickness ftorms, or Time befieges thee! Thou 'unwholesome thaw to frozen age ! Thou strong wine, which youth's fever doft enrage! Thou tyrant, which leav'ft no man free! Thou fubtle thief, from whom nought safe can be! Thou murderer, which hast kill'd, and devil, which would'ft damn me!



S men in Greenland left beheld the fun
From their horizon run,

And thought upon the fad half-year

Of cold and darkness they must fuffer there :

So on my parting mistress did I look;

With fuch swoln eyes my farewell took ;

Ah, my fair ftar! faid I;

Ah, those bleft lands to which bright Thou doft fly
In vain the men of learning comfort me,
And fay I'm in a warm degree;

Say what they please, I say and fwear

'Tis beyond eighty' at least, if you 're not here..

It is, it is; I tremble with the froft,

And know that I the day have loft;

And those wild things which men they call,

I find to be but bears or foxes all.


Return, return, gay planet of mine East,

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Of all that fhines thou much the best! And, as thou now defcend'ft to fea, More fair and fresh rise up from thence to me!

Thou, who in many a propriety,

So truly art the fun to me,

Add one more likeness (which I'm fure you can)

And let me and my fun beget a man!

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HERE, take my likeness with you, whilft 'tis fo;

For, when from hence you go,

The next fun's rifing will behold

Me pale, and lean, and old:

The man who did this picture draw, Will fwear next day my face he never faw.

I really believe, within a while,

If you upon this shadow smile,

Your prefence will fuch vigour give

(Your presence, which makes all things live!) And abfence fo much alter me,

This will the fubftance, I the shadow, be.

When from your well-wrought cabinet you take it,


your bright looks awake it,

Ah! be not frighted if you fee
The new-foul'd picture gaze on thee,
And hear it breathe a figh or two;

For those are the first things that it will do.


My rival-image will be then thought bleft,
And laugh at me as difpoffeft;

But thou, who (if I know thee right)
I' th' fubftance doft not much delight,
Wilt rather fend again for me,

Who then shall but my picture's picture be.




O; to what purpose should I speak?
No, wretched heart! fwell till you
She cannot love me if she would;


And, to fay truth, 'twere pity that she should.
No; to the grave thy forrows bear;

As filent as they will be there:

Since that lov'd hand this mortal wound does give,
So handfomely the thing contrive,

That he may guiltless of it live ;
So perish, that her killing thee
May a chance-medley, and no murder, be.

'Tis nobler much for me, that I
By her beauty, not her anger, die:
This will look justly, and become
An execution; that, a martyrdom.

The cenfuring world will ne'er refrain
From judging men by thunder flain.
She must be angry, fure, if I fhould be
So bold to ask her to make me,"
By being her's, happier than fhe!
I will not; 'tis a milder fate

To fall by her not loving, than her hate.


And yet this death of mine, I fear,
Will ominous to her appear;

When, found in every other part,
Her facrifice is found without an heart;
For the laft tempest of my death

Shall figh out that too with my breath. Then shall the world my noble ruin see, Some pity and fome envy me;

Then the herself, the mighty she,

Shall grace my funerals with this truth; 'Twas only Love deftroy'd the gentle youth!"


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WHAT mines of fulphur in my breast do lie,
That feed th' eternal burnings of my heart!
Not Ætna flames more fierce or constantly,
The founding fhop of Vulcan's fmoky art:
Vulcan his fhop has placed there,
And Cupid's forge is set-up here.

Here all thofe arrows' mortal heads are made,
That fly fo thick unfeen through yielding air;
The Cyclops here, which labour at the trade,
Are Jealousy, Fear, Sadness, and Despair.
Ah, cruel God! and why to me
Gave you this curft monopoly?

I have the trouble, not the gains, of it :-
Give me but the disposal of one dart,
And then (I'll afk no other benefit)
Heat as you please your furnace in my heart:

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