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But, fav'd by Belvidera's charming tears,

Still o'er the subject main her towers she rears,
And stands a great example to mankind,

With what a boundless fway you rule the mind,
Skilful the worst or noblest ends to ferve,
And strong alike to ruin or preserve.

In wretched Jaffier, we with pity view
A mind, to Honour falfe, to Virtue true,
In the wild ftorm of ftruggling paffions toft,
Yet faving innocence, though fame was lost ;
Greatly forgetting what he ow'd his friend-
His country, which had wrong'd him, to defend,
But the, who urg'd him to that pious deed,
Who knew fo well the patriot's caufe to plead,
Whofe conquering love her country's safety won,
Was, by that fatal love, herself undone.

* "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:
"Soon will the flattering dreams of joys be o'er,
"And cloy'd imagination cheat no more;

Then, waking to the fenfe of lasting pain,
"With mutual tears the bridal couch they ftain;


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,
Does but augment the anguish of their grief:
While both could easier their own forrows bear,
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 blefs each welcome night!
May Heaven, that gave you Belvidera's charms,
Deftine fome happier Jaffier to your arms,
Whofe blifs misfortune never may allay,
Whofe fondness never may through care decay;
Whose wealth may place you in the fairest light,
And force each modest beauty into fight!
So shall no anxious want your peace destroy,
No tempeft crush the tender buds of joy;
But all your hours in one gay circle move,
Nor Reafon ever difagree with Love!

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ELL me, my heart, fond slave of hopeless love,
And doom'd its woes, without its joys, to prove,

Canft thou endure thus calmly to erase

The dear, dear image of thy Delia's face?
Canft thou exclude that habitant divine,
To place fome meaner idol in her shrine?
O talk, for feeble Reafon too fevere !

O leffon, nought could teach me but despair!



Muft I forbid

my eyes

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,
Though Laura dying left her lover's arms,
Yet were your pains less exquisite than mine,
'Tis easier far to lofe, than to refign!

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.





(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



illness fee?


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;
Weakness for thee is woman's nobleft pride.


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,
Or bafely live, and be a king in Rome?
If life be nothing more than death's delay;
If impious force can honest minds difmay,
Or Probity may Fortune's frown difdain;
If well to mean is all that Virtue can;
And right, dependant on itself alone,
Gains no addition from fuccefs? - 'Tis known:
Fix'd in my heart these conftant truths I bear,

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,
All that we ought to know was then then reveal'd.
Nor can we think the Omnipresent mind

Has truth to Libya's defart 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 holieft farine, the virtuous foul?
Where-e'er the eye can pierce, the feet can move,
This wide, this boundlefs univerfe is Jove.
Let abject 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 deftin'd hour-
This Jove has told; he needs not tell us more.

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