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The bright bewitching Cloe's eyes,
Thyrlis, afflicted with love and despair,
Were I to chuse the greatest bliss,
216 so 34 20 177
When firt I saw the bright Aurelia's eyes, 184 When first you took my heart as a prize,
88 When from her beauty long I've strove,
70 When Mira's hands her needle thread,
68 When my Aurelia Smiles, the wounds me,
236 When passion's ungovern'd by reason or art, 262 When perfect beauty is by heav'n design’d, 172 When Sylvia's charms were in their bloom,
95 When the bright god of day When the rose is in bud, and the violets blow, 53 Where, on the stage, mock hero's rage,
229 While, from any looks, fair nymph, you guess 85 While on your blooming charms I gaze,
33 Whilft on Amintor's form. I gaze,
79 Who has e’er been at Paris,
252 Why, Damon, why, why, why so pressing ? ,199 Why shou'd I ask to whom she's kind,
198 Why shou'd men quarrel here, where all possess, 195 U hy shou'd you blaine what heav'n has made, 41 Wine rejecting,
200 With every lady in the land
IOS Woman, thoughtless, giddy creature ! Wou'd you gain the tender creature,
6 Y Y E ocaus of pleasure,
223 re commons and peers,
219 re fair injurd nymphs, and ye beaus who deceive 'em, 6s re knights of la Mancha, whose powerful sword, Ye nymphs of Britain, to whose eyes
86 Te shepherds and nymphs, that adorn the gay plain, 82 Young Cupid I find Young Philander woord me long,
125 Youth and age for Celia firove,
OR ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove
Bid us sigh on from day to day,
But busy, busy ftill art thou,
For once, O Fortune ! hear my pray'r,
OMAN, thoughtless, giddy creature !
Laughing, idle, Autt'ring thing! Most fantastic work of nature!
Still, like fancy, on the wing.
Slave to ev'ry changing passion,
Loving, hating, in extream: Fond of ev'ry foolish fashion ;
And, at best, a pleasing dream.
Lovely trifle! dear illufion!
Cong'ring weakness! wish'd-for pain! Man's chief glory and confusion,
Of all vanity most vain!
Thus, deriding beauty's pow'r,
Bevil call'd it all a cheat ; Cut in less than half an hour,
Kneeld and whind at Cælia's feet.
ELL m, Cloe, why has nature
form? Why in beauty deck'd each feature ?
Think you 'twas to aid your scorn?
No, mistaken charming woman,
Nature no such thrift requires ; She bestows her gifts in common,
And our lib'ral use desires.
Then no longer doat on pow'r,
But let love your thoughts employ; Use the now propitious hour,
And improve the instant joy.
Time, tho' fowly, is approaching,
When that face we now adore, Stead of love will cause our loathing,
Spread with age and wrinkles o'er.
Then while weakly, vainly prating,
You your former conquests boast, Who'll regard you, while relating
What your scorn and folly lost?