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May the no more confide in friends
Who nothing farther understood
Than only for their private ends

To wafte her wealth and spill her blood.
And for reward, &c.

Our Senators, great Jove! restrain

From private piques they prudence call;
From the low thoughts of little gain

And hazarding the lofing all.
And for reward, &c.

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The fhining arms with hafte prepare,

Then to the glorious combat fly,

Our minds unclogg'd with farther care
Except to overcome or die.

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And for reward of the just gods we claim
A life with freedom, or a death with fame.

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IMITATIONS.

THE TEMPLE OF DEATH.

IN IMITATION OF THE FRENCH.

IN thofe cold climates, where the fun appears
Unwillingly, and hides his face in tears,
A difmal vale lies in a defert ifle,

On which indulgent Heav'n did never smile:
There a thick grove of aged cypress trees,
Which none without an awful horror fees,
Into its wither'd arms, depriv'd of leaves,
Whole flocks of ill-prefaging birds receives:
Poisons are all the plants that foil will bear,
And winter is the only season there:
Millions of graves o'erfpread the spacious field,
And springs of blood a thousand rivers yield,
Whofe streams, opprefs'd with carcaffes and bones,
Inftead of gentle murmurs pour forth groans.
Within this vale a famous temple stands,
Old as the world itself, which it commands;
Round is its figure, and four iron gates
Divide mankind, by order of the Fates:

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Thither in crowds come to one common grave
The young, the old, the monarch, and the slave. 20

Old Age and Pains, those evils man deplores,
Are rigid keepers of th' eternal doors,

All clad in mournful blacks, which fadly load
The facred walls of this obfcure abode;

And tapers, of a pitchy fubftance made,

With clouds of smoke increase the dismal fhade.
A monster void of reafon and of fight

The goddess is who sways this realm of night;
Her pow'r extends o'er all things that have breath,
A cruel tyrant, and her name is Death.

The fairest object of our wond'ring eyes
Was newly offer'd up her facrifice;

Th' adjoining places where the altar stood,
Yet blushing with the fair Almeria's blood;
When griey'd Orontes, whose unhappy flame
Is known to all who e'er converse with Fame,
His mind poffefs'd by Fury and Despair,
Within the facred temple made this prayer:

Great Deity! who in thy hands dost bear
That iron fceptre which poor mortals fear;
Who, wanting eyes thyself, refpecteft none,
And neither spar'st the laurel nor the crown!
O Thou! whom all mankind in vain withstand,
Each of whofe blood must one day stain thy hand!
O Thou! who ev'ry eye that sees the light
Clofeft for ever in the fhades of night!
Goddess! attend, and hearken to my grief,
To which thy pow'r alone can give relief.

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Alas! I ask not to defer my fate,

But with my hapless life a shorter date,

And that the earth would in its bowels hide..
A wretch whom Heav'n invades on ev'ry fide';
That from the fight of day I could remove,
And might have nothing left me but my love.
Thou only comforter of minds oppreft,
The port where wearied spirits are at reft,
Conductor, to Elyfium, take my life,
My breast I offer to thy facred knife:
So just a grace refufe not, nor defpife
A willing tho' a worthless facrifice.

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Others (their frail and mortal state forgot)
Before thy altars are not to be brought

Without conftraint; the noife of dying rage,
Heaps of the flain of ev'ry sex and age,

The blade all reeking in the gore it shed,

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With fever'd heads and arms confus'dly spread;

The rapid flames of a perpetual fire,

The groans of wretches ready to expire ;
This tragic fcene in terror makes them live,

Till that is forc'd which they should freely give; 70
Yielding unwillingly what Heav'n will have,
Their fears eclipse the glory of their grave;
Before thy face they make indecent moan,
And feel a hundred deaths in fearing one;

Thy flame becomes unhallow'd in their breast, 75
And he a murderer who was a priest;

But against me thy strongest forces call,
And on my head let all the tempeft fall;
No mean retreat fhall any weakness show,
But calmly I'll expect the fatal blow;

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My limbs not trembling, in my mind no fear,
Plaints in my mouth, nor in my eyes a tear:
Think not that time, our wonted fure relief,
That univerfal cure for ev'ry grief,

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Whose aid fo many lovers oft' have found,
With like fuccefs can ever heal my wound:
Too weak the pow'r of Nature or of Art,
Nothing but Death can ease a broken heart;
And that thou may'st behold my helpless state,
Learn the extremeft rigour of my fate.

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Amidft th' innumerable beauteous train Paris, the queen of cities, does contain, (The fairest town, the largest, and the best) The fair Almeria fhin'd above the rest; From her bright eyes to feel a hopeless flame, Was of our youth the most ambitious aim : Her chains were marks of honour to the brave; She made a prince whene'er she made a slave. Love, under whose tyrannic pow'r I groan, Shew'd me this beauty ere 't was fully blown ; 100 Her tim❜rous charms, and her unpractis'd look, Their first affurance from my conquest took : By wounding me she learn'd the fatal art, And the first figh she had was from my heart:

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