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But, fav'd by Belvidera's charming tears,
Still o'er the subject main her towers she rears,
With what a boundless fway you rule the mind,
In wretched Jaffier, we with pity view
* "Hence may we learn, what paffion fain would "hide,
"That Hymen's bands by prudence fhould be tied. "Venus in vain the wedded pair would crown,
"If angry Fortune on their union frown:
Then, waking to the fenfe of lasting pain,
The twelve following lines, with some small variations, have been already printed in "Advice to a "Lady," p. 39; but, as Lord Lyttelton chofe to introduce them here, it was thought more eligible to repeat these few lines, than to fupprefs the reft of the poem.
4 And that fond love, which should afford relief,
ELL me, my heart, fond slave of hopeless love,
Canft thou endure thus calmly to erase
The dear, dear image of thy Delia's face?
O leffon, nought could teach me but despair!
Muft I forbid
that heavenly fight,
They 've view'd fo oft with languifhing delight?
Muft my ears fhun that voice, whofe charming found Seem'd to relieve, while it encreas'd, my wound?
O Waller! Petrarch! you who tun'd the lyre
To the foft notes of elegant defire.;
Though Sidney to a rival gave her charms,
INSCRIPTION for a BUST of Lady SUFFOLK Defigned to be fet up in a Wood at Stowe.
HER wit and beauty for a court were made:
But truth and goodness fit her for a shade.
SULPICIA TO CERINTHUS,
IN HER SICKNESS.
(Sent to a Friend, in a Lady's Name.) SAY, my Cerinthus, does thy tender breaft
Feel the fame feverish heats that mine moleft?
Alas! I only wish for health again,
Because I think my lover shares my pain:
For what would health avail to wretched me, could, unconcern'd, my
SULPICIA TO CERINTHUS.
I'M weary of this tedious dull deceit;
Myfelf I torture, while the world I cheat: Though Prudence bids me strive to guard my fame, Love fees the low hypocrify with fhame;
Love bids me all confefs, and call thee mine,
Worthy my heart, as I am worthy thine :
Weakness for thee I will no longer hide;
CATO'S SPEECH TO LABIENUS.
In the Ninth Book of LUCAN.
("Quid quæri, Labiene, jubes, &c.")
WHAT, Labienus, would thy fond defire,
Of horned Jove's prophetic fhrine enquire?
Whether to feek in arms a glorious doom,
And Ammon cannot write them deeper there.
Our fouls, allied to God, within them feel The fecret dictates of th' Almighty will;
This is his voice, be this our oracle.
When firft his breath the feeds of life inftill'd,
Has truth to Libya's defart sands confin'd,
Except earth, fea, and air, yon azure pole;
Cowards and brave muft die one deftin'd hour-