III.

Forbear your addreffes, and court us no more;
For we will perform what the Deity fwore:
But if
you dare think of deferving our charms,
Away with your fheephooks, and take to your arms:
Then laurels and myrtles your brows fhall adorn,
When Pan, and his fon, and fair Syrinx, return.

VII.

A SON G.

I.

FAIR, fweet, and young, receive a prize

Referv'd for your victorious eyes:

From crowds, whom at your feet you fee,
O pity, and diftinguish me!

As I from thoufand beauties more
Diftinguish you, and only you adore.

II.

Your face for conqueft was defign'd,
Your every motion charms my mind;
Angels, when you your filence break,
Forget their hymns, to hear you fpeak;
But when at once they hear and view,

Are loth to mount, and long to stay with you,
III.

No graces can your form improve,
But all are loft, unlefs you love;
While that sweet paffion you difdain,
Your veil and beauty are in vain:
In pity then prevent my fate,
For after dying all reprieve's too late.

A SONG,

VIII.

A SON G.

HIGH ftate and honours to others impart,

But give me your heart:

That treasure, that treasure alone,

I beg for my own.

So gentle a love, so fervent a fire,
My foul does inspire;

That treasure, that treasure alone,
I beg for my own.
Your love let me crave;

Give me in poffeffing

So matchlefs a bleffing;
That empire is all I would have.

Love's my petition,

All my ambition;

To reward your faithful fwain. Cloe, laughing at his crying,

Told him, that he lov'd in vain: Kifs me, dear, before my dying; Kifs me once, and ease my pain! IV.

Cloe, laughing at his crying,

Told him, that he lov'd in vain: But, repenting, and complying, When he kiss'd, she kiss'd again: Kifs'd him up before his dying; Kiss'd him up, and eas'd his pain.

VOL, XIX.

P

A SONG.

X.

A SON G.

I.

Go tell Amynta, gentle fwain,

I would not die, nor dare complain:
Thy tuneful voice with numbers join,
Thy words will more prevail than mine.
To fouls opprefs'd, and dumb with grief,
The gods ordain this kind relief;
That mufic fhould in founds convey,

What dying lovers dare not say.

II.

A figh or tear, perhaps, fhe'll give,

But love on pity cannot live.

Tell her that hearts for hearts were made,

And love with love is only paid.

Tell her my pains so fast increase,
That foon they will be past redress;
But ah! the wretch, that speechlefs lies,
Attends but death to close his eyes.

XL.

A SONG

TO A FAIR YOUNG LADY, GOING OUT OF THE

TOWN IN THE SPRING.

I.

ASK not the caufe, why fullen Spring

So long delays her flowers to bear;

Thy warbling birds forget to fing,
And winter ftorms invert the year:

Chloris

Chloris is gone, and fate provides

To make it Spring, where she refides.

II.

Chloris is gone, the cruel fair;
She caft not back a pitying eye:
But left her lover in despair,

To figh, to languish, and to die:
Ah, how can those fair eyes endure
To give the wounds they will not cure!

III.

Great god of love, why hast thou made
A face that can all hearts command,
That all religions can invade,

And change the laws of every land?
Where thou hadst plac'd fuch power before,

Thou shouldft have made her mercy more,
IV.

When Chloris to the temple comes,
Adoring crowds before her fall;
She can reftore the dead from tombs,
And every life but mine recal.
I only am by Love defign'd
To be the victim for mankind,