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But, fav’d by Belvidera's charming tears,
Still o'er the subject main her towers se rears,
And stands a great example to mankind,
With what a boundless sway you rule the mind,
Skilful the worst or noblest ends to serve,
And strong alike to ruin or preserve.

In wretched Jaffier, we with pity view
A mind, to Honour false, to Virtue true,
In the wild form of struggling passions toft,
Yet saving innocence, though fame was lost ;
Greatly forgetting what he ow'd his friend
His country, which had wrong'd him, to defend,

But she, who urg'd him to that pious deed,
Who knew so well the patriot's cause to plead,
Whole conquering love her country's safety won,
Was, by that fatal love, herself undone.
*“ Hence may we learn, what passion fain would

“ hide, " That Hymen's bands by prudence should be tied. “ Venus in vain the wedded pair would crown, " If angry Fortune on their union frown: “ Soon will the fiattering dreams of joys be o’er, “ And cloy'd imagination cheat no more; * Then, waking to the sense of lasting pain, “ With mutual tears the bridal couch they stain ;

And * The twelve following lines, with some small variations, have been already printed in “ Advice to a “ Lady,” p. 39; but, as Lord Lyttelton chose to introduce them here, it was thought more eligible to repeat these few lines, than to suppress the rest of the poem.


66 And that fond love, which should afford relief,
Does but augment the anguish of their grief :
*6 While both could easier their own forrows bear,
6. Than the fad knowledge of each other's care.”

May all the joys in Love and Fortune's power
Kindly combine to grace your nuptial hour!
On each glad day may plenty fhower delight,
And warmest rapture bleís each welcome night!
May Heaven, that gave you Belvidera's charms,
Destine some happier Jaffier to your arms,
Whose bliss misfortune never may allay,
Whofe fondness never may through care decay ;
Whose wealth may place you in the faireft light,
And force each modest beauty into fight!
So shall no anxious want your peace destroy,
No tempest crush the tender buds of joy;
But all your hours in one gay
Nor Reason ever disagree with Love !

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ELL me, my heart, fond Nave of hopeless love,

And doom'd its woes, without its joys, to prove, Canst thou endure thus calmly to erase The dear, dear image of thy Delia's face? Canst thou exclude that habitant divine, To place fome meaner idol in her shrine ? O talk, for feeble Reason too severe ! O leffon, nought could teach me but despair !


Must I forbid my eyes that heavenly light,
They 've view'd so oft with languishing delight?
Must my ears sun that voice, whose charming sound
Seem'd to relieve, while it encreas'd, my wound?

O Waller! Petrarch! you who tun'd the lyre
To the soft notes of elegant desire.;
Though Sidney to a rival gave her charms,
Though Laura dying left her lover's arms,
Yet were your pains less exquisite than mine,
'Tis easier far to lose, than to resign!

Designed to be set up in a Wood at Stowe.

HER wit and beauty for a court were made:

But truth and goodness fit her for a shade.






(Sent to a friend, in a Lady's Name.)
SAY, my Cerinthus, does thy tender breast

Feel the same 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,
If you could, unconcern’d, my illness fee?


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I'M weary of this tedious.dull deceit;

Myself I torture, while the world I cheat:
Though Prudence bids me strive to guard my fame,
Love fecs the low hypocrisy with shame;
Love bids me all confels, and call thee mine,
Worthy my heart, as I am worthy thine :
Weakness for thee I will no longer hide;
Weakness for thee is woman's noblest pride.


In the Ninth Book of LUCAN.

(“Quid quæri, Labiene, jubes, &c.")

WHAT, Labienus, would thy fond desire,

Of horned Jove's prophetic thrine enquire ?
Whether to seek in arms a glorious doom,
Or barely live, and be a king in Rome?
If life be nothing more than death's delay;
If impious force can honest minds dismay,
Or Probity may Fortune's frown disdain ;
If well to mean is all that Virtue can;
And right, dependant on itself alone,
Gains no addition from success? - 'Tis known:
Fix'd in my heart these conftant truths I bear,
And Ammon cannot write thein deeper there.




Our souls, allied to God, within them feel
The secret dictates of th'Almighty will;
This is his voice, be this our oracle.
When firft his breath the feeds of life instill'd,
All that we ought to know was then then reveal'd.
Nor can we think the Omnipresent mind
Has truth to Libya's desart sands confin'd,
There, known to few, obscur’d, and lost, to lie.
Is there a temple of the Deity,
Except earth, fea, and air, yon azure pole;
And chief, his holiest farine, the virtuous foai?
Where-e'er the eye can pierce, the feet can move,
This wide, this boundless universe is Jove.
Let abjeét minds, that doubt because they fear,
With pious awe to juggling priests repair;
I credit not what lying prophets tell
Death is the only certain oracle.
Cowards and brave muft die one destin'd hour
This Jove has told; he needs not tell us more.


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