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The ills that Love moleft;
bliss muft gain :
That never feels a pain.
Written at Mr. POPE's House at Twickenham,
which he had lent to Mrs. GREVILLE.
In August, 1735
Not all its wealth or pride
The Muses' green retreat,
Enchants us here no more ;
The Muses here remain;
A Pope of every swain.
ONE without hope e'er lov'd the brightest fair :
To Mr. WEST, at WICKHAM *.
Written in the Year 1740.
AIR Nature's sweet fimplicity,
With elegance refind,
But better in thy mind.
Eager I fly, to prove
Tranquillity and Love.
* See the Inscriptions in Mr. West's Poems.
TO MISS LUCY FORTESCUE.
ONCE, by the Mufe alone inspir’d
I sung my amorous strains : No serious love my bosom fir'd ; Yet every tender maid, deceiv'd,, The idly-mournful tale believ'd,
And wept my fancied pains.
But Venus now, to punish me
For having feign'd so well,
Its real flame to tell.
TO THE SAME;
H A MM O N D’S ELE GI E S..
In these soft numbers see ;
It must be read in me. .
TO THE SAME.
who in an hour muft die
Not swifter feems that hour to fly,
TO THE SAME.
Last night the secret cafket I explor’d,
(His richest treasure) careful Love had stor’d:
In every word a magic spell I found
of power to charm eacha busy thought to rest ; Though every word increas'd the tender wound Of fond defire still throbbing in my breast..
III. Se III.
So to his hoarded gold the miser steals,
And loses every sorrow at the sight;
Couldlt thou forget thy heart was ever minez
A painful witness of reproach to thee;
My heart shall break, to leave thee wholly free
A PRA YER TO VENUS,
IN HER TEMPLE AT STOWE,
Τ Ο Τ Ε Ε S Α Μ Ε.
Its front reflected in the filver lake,
Fresh flowers, and myrtle wreaths, propitious take.