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MYRTILLA.

Fond Youth, in yonder folitary Shade,
I faw Narciffus with the perjur'd Maid;
A thousand tender things the look'd, and said,
Her ravish'd Eyes upon his Beauty fed;

With Flow'rs his graceful flowing Hair fhe dreft,
And all her Smiles tumultuous Joys express'd.
ALEX I S.

What pafs'd before I faw my lovely Fair,
Deferves not now my Jealoufie or Care:-
Had I at first the gentle Charmer known,
She had been conftant then, and all my own.

The CONVERT.

Written by the Right Honourable the EARL of MULGRAVE.

Ejected as true Converts die,

DE

But yet with fervent Thoughts inflam'd;

So, Faireft, at your Feet I lye,

Of all my Sex's Faults afham'd.

Too long, alas, have I defy'd

The force of Love's almighty Flame; And often did aloud deride

His Godhead, as an empty Name.

But, fince fo freely I confefs

A Crime, which may your Scorn produce, Allow me now to make it less,,

By any juft, and fair Excufe.

I then did vulgar Joys purfue;
Variety was all my Blifs;

But ignorant of Love, and you,
How could I chufe but do amifs?

If ever now my wand'ring Eyes

Search out Temptations, as before; If once I look, but to defpife

Their Charms, and value yours the more:

May fad Remorfe, and guilty Shame,
Revenge your Wrongs on faithless me;
And, what I tremble ev'n to Name,
May I lose all, in lofing Thee.

The RECOVERY.

By the fame Hand.

Sighing and languishing I lay,

A Stranger grown to all Delight; Paffing in tedious Thoughts the Day, And with unquiet Dreams the Night.

For your dear fake, my only Care
Was how my conftant Love to hide;
And ever drooping with Despair,
Neglected all the World befide.

'Till, like fome Angel from Above,
Your Mercy came to my Relief;
And then I found the Joys of Love,
Can make Amends for all the Grief.

Those pleafing Hopes I now purfue,
Might fail, if you cou'd prove unjust ;
But Promifes from Heav'n, and you,
Who is fo impious to miftruft?

Here all my Doubts, and Troubles end;
That tender Sigh my Soul affures;

Nor am I vain, fince I depend,
Not on my own Defert, but yours.

The RE LA PS E.

L'

By the fame Hand.

IKE Children in a Starry Night, When I beheld thofe Eyes before, I gaz'd with Wonder, and Delight,. Infenfible of all their Pow'r..

I play'd about the Flame fo long,
At length I felt the fcorching Fire;.
My Hopes grew weak, my Paffion strong,
And I lay dying with Defire.

By all the help of Human Art,
I just recover'd fo much Senfe,
As to avoid, with heavy Heart,

The Fair, but Fatal Influence.

But, fince you fhine away Despair,
And now my Sighs no longer hun,,

No Perfian in his zealous Prayʼr,
So much adores the Rifing Sun.

If once again my Vows difpleafe,
There never was fo loft a Lover;
In Love, that languishing Disease,
A fad Relapfe we ne'er recover.

An O DE on Mr. HERNY PUR

G%%

CELL'S Death.

OOD Angels fnatch'd him eagerly on high; Joyful they flew, finging, and foaring through the Teaching his New-fledg'd Soul to fly, [Sky, While we, alas, did plung'd in Sorrow lye..

He went musing all along,

And new compos'd their Heav'nly Song.

A while his skilful Notes loud Hallelujahs drown'd;
But foon they ceas'd their own, to catch his pleasing
Sound;

Then, with Divine Tranfport, eccho'd it all around
And David's tuneful Lyre improv'd the Harmony;
David, in Sacred Story fo Renown'd,
No lefs for Mufick, than for Poetry.
Oh Genius moft fublime in either Art!
Crown'd with Applause furpaffing all Desert!
A Man juft after God's own Heart!
If Human Cares are lawful to the Bleft,
Already fettl'd in Eternal Reft,

Needs must thou wish, that Purcell only might
Have liv'd to Set whatever thou didft Write
For, fure, the noble Thirft of Fame

In our frail Body never dies,

But with the Soul afcends the Skies,
From whence at firft it came.
'Tis not the flightest Proof we have,
That part of us furvives the Grave,
And in our Fame below ftill bears a fhare:
Why is the Future elfe fo much our Care,
Ev'n in our latest Moment of Despair?

And Death itself defpis'd by all the Wife, and Brave!
Oh, all ye Bleft Harmonious Quire!
Whofe only happy Bus' nefs is to Love, and to Admire:
Look down with Pity from your peaceful Bower,
On wretched Men perplex'd,

And ever, ever vex'd

With anxious Care of Trifles, Wealth, and Pow'r.
In our rough Minds due Reverence infufe

For fweet melodious Sounds, and ev'ry artful Mufe.
Mufick improves our Nature, and inspires
Nothing but elevated Thoughts, and gentle foft De
fires.

Ο

S O N G.

By the fame Hand.

H how I languish! What a ftrange,
Unruly, fierce Defire?

My Spirits feel fome wond'rous change,
My Heart is all on Fire.

Now all my wifer Thoughts, away;
In vain your Tale ye tell
Of patient Hopes, and dull Delay;
Love's Foppifh part, farewel.

Suppofe one Week's Delay wou'd give
All that my Wishes move;

Oh! who fo long a time can live,
Stretch'd on the Rack, on Love?

Her Soul, perhaps, is too fublime
To like fuch flavish Fear;
Difcretion, Prudence, all is Crime,
If once condemn'd by her.

When Honour does the Soldier call,
To fome unequal Fight,
Refolv'd to Conquer, or to Fall
Before his General's Sight;

Advanc'd the happy Heroe lives:

Or if Ill Fate denies,

The poble Rashness Heav'n forgives,

And gloriously he dies.

To a COQUET BEAUTY.

By the fame Hand.

Rom Wars, and Plagues, come no fuch Harms,

Fs from a Nymph fo full of Charms;