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Smile Myra, then, reward my fame, And be as much secure of fame; By all those matchless beauties fir'd, By my own matchless love inspir'd; So will I fing, such wonders write, That when th' astonish'd world shall cite A nyinph of spotless worth and fame, Myra shall be ch' immortal name.


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HILE Phyllis is drinking, love and wine ia

With forces united, bid refiftless defiance,
By the touch of her lips the wine sparkles higher,
And her eyes, by her drinking, redouble their fire.

II. Her cheeks glow the brighter, recruiting their

colour, As flowers by sprinkling revive with fresh odour; Each dart dipt in wine, gives a wound beyond curing, And the liquor, like oil, makes the flame more enduring

Then Phyllis, begin, let our raptures abound,
And a kiss, and a glass, be still going round,
Relieving each other, our pleasures are lasting,
And we never are cloyd, yet are ever a tasting.




REPAR’D to rail, refolv'd to part,

When I approach'd the perjur'd fair,
What is it awes my timorous heart?
Why does my tongue forbear?

With the least glance, a little kind,

Such wond'rous pow'r have Myra's charms,
She calms my doubts, enslaves my mind,
And all my rage disarms.

III. Forgetful of her broken vows,

When gazing on thit form divine, Her injur'd vaftal trembling bows,

Nor dares her Nave repine.




HEN wilt thou break, my stubborn heart?

O death! how now to take my part !
Whatever I pursue, denies,
Death, death itself, like Myra, flies.

Love and despair, like twins, pofleft
Acthe lime fatal birth my breast;
No hope could be, her scorn was all
That to my destin d lot could fail.

I thought, alas! that love could dwell
But in warm climes, where no snow fell;
Like plants, that kindly heat require,
To be maintain'd by constant fire.

That without hope, 'twould die as soon,
A little hope-but I have none :
On air the poor Camelions thrive,
Deny'd e'en that, my love can live.

As toughest trees in storms are bred,
And grow in spite of winds, and spread ;
The more the tempest tears and shakes
My love, the deeper root it takes,

Despair, that aconite does prove,
And certain death to others love ;
That poison, never yet withstood,
Does nourish mine, and turns to food.

O! for what crime is my torn heart
Condemo'd to suffer deathless smart?
Like fad Prometheus, thus to lie
In endless pain, and never die.



In Initation of Theocritus.
IX, mix the Philters, quick-he flies, she flies,

Deaf to my call, regardless of my cries.
Are vows lo vain? could oaths so feeble prove?
Ah! with what ease she breaks those chains of love!
Whom love with all his force had bound in vain,
Let charms compel, and magic rites regain.

Bezin, begin, the mystic spells prepare,

Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer.
Queen of the night, bright empress of the stars,
The friend of love, aliit a lover's cares ;
And thou, infernal Hecate, be nigh,
At whose approach fierce wolves affrighted fly :
Dark tombs disclose their dead, and hollow cries
Echo from under ground-Arise, arile.

Begin, begin, the mytic spells prepare,
Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer.


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As crackling in the fire this laurel lies,
So, itrugling in love's flame, her lover dies;
It bursts, and in a blaze of light expires,
So may the burn, but with more lasting fires.

Begin, begin, the mystic spells prepare,

Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer.
A: the wax melts, which to the flame I hold,
So may the melt, and never more grow cold.
Tough imn will yield, and stubborn marble run,
Add hardest hearts by love are melted down.

Begin, begin, the mystic spells prepare,

Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer.
As with impetuous motion whirling round,
This magic wheel till moves, yet keeps its ground,
Ever returning, so may she come back,
And never more the appointed round forsake.

Begin, begin, the mystie spells prepare,

Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer. Diana, hail! all hail' most welcome thou, To whom th' infernal king and judges bow ; O thou, whose art the power of hell disarms, Upon a faithless woman try thy charms. Hark! the dogs howl, the comes, the goddess comes, Sound the loud trump, and beat our brazen drums.

Begin, begin, the mystic spells prepare,

Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer.
How calm's the sky! how undisturbid the deep!
Nature is husht, the very tempests Neep ;
The drowsy winds breathe gently thro' the trees,
And silent on the beach, repose the seas :
Love only wakes; the form that tears my breast
For ever rages, and distracts my rest :
O love! relentless love! tyrant accurst,
In defarts bred, by cruel tygers nursid !

Begin, begin, the mystic spells prepare,

Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer. This Ribbon, that once bound her lovely waist, O that my arms might gird her there as fast ! Sariling the gave it, and I priz'd it more Than the rich zone the Idalian Goddess wore : This Ribbon, this lov'd relict of the fair, So kist, and so preferi'd-thushus I tear. O love! why doit thou thus delight to rend My soul with pain? Ah! why torment thy friend?

Begin, begin, the mystic spells prepare,

Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer. Thrice have I sacrific'd, and proftrate thrice Ador'd: affit, ye powers, the sacrifice. Whoe'er he is whom now the fair beguiles With guilty glances, and with perjur'd (miles, Malignant vapours blast his impious head, Ye lightnings scorch him, thunder strike him dead; Horror of conscience all his Numbers break, Distract his rest, as love keeps me awake; If married, may his wife an Helen be, And curs'd, and scornd, like Menelaus, he.

Begin, begin, the mystic spells preparc,

Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer. These powerful drops, thrice on the threshold pour, And bathe with this enchanted juice, her door, That door where no admittance now is found, But where my soul is ever hovering round.

Hafte, and obey; and binding be the spell ;
Here ends my charm ; O Love ! succeed it well :
By force of magic, stop the flying fair,
Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer.
Thou ’rt now alone, and painfulis restraint,
Ease thy preft heart, and give thy forrows vent;
Whence sprang, and how began these griefs, declare ;
How much thy love, how cruel thy despair.
Ye moon and stars, by whore auspicious light
I haunt these groves, and waste the tedious night!

Tell, for you know the burthen of my heart,

Its killing anguish, and its secret smart.
Too late for hope, for my repose too soon
I law, and lov'd : Her heart engag’d, was gone ;
A happier man posless'd whom I adore ;
O! I should ne'er have seen, or seen before.

Tell, for you know the burthen of my heart,

Its killing anguish, and its secret smart.
What shall I do? Shall I in filence bear,
Destroy myself, or kill the ravisher ?
Die, wretched lover, die ; but O! beware,
Hurt not the man who is belov’d by her ;
Wait for a better hour, and trust thy fate,
Thou seck'st her love, beget not then her hate.

Tell, for you know the burthen of my heart,

Its killing anguish, and its secret smart.
My life consuming with cternal grief,
From herbs and spells, I seek a vain relief;
To every wise magician I repair
In vain, for still I love, and I despair.
Circe, Medea, and the Sybils' books,
Contain not half th' enchantment of her looks.

Tell, for you know the burthen of my heart,

Its killing anguish, and its secret smart.
As melted gold preserves its weight the same,
So burnt my love, nor wasted in the flame.
And now, unable to support the strife,
A glimmering hope recalls departing life :
My rival dying, I no longer grieve,
Since I may ask, and she with honour give.

Tell, for you know the burthen of my heart,

Its killing anguith, and its secret smart.
Witness, ye hours, with what unwearicd care,
From place to place I till pursu'd the fair ;
Nor was occasion to reveal my fame,
Slow to my succour, for it kinciy came,
It came, it carne, that moment of delight,
O Gods! and how I treinbled at the fight!

Tell, for you know the burthen of my heart,

Its killing anguish, and its secret frauri.
Dismay'd, and motionless, confus'd, amaz'd,
Trembling 1 stood, and terrify'd I gaz'd;
My faultering tongue in vain for utterance try d,
Faint was my voice, my thoughts abortive dy'd,
Or in weak sounds, and bruke! accents came,
Imperfect, as discourses in a diem.

Tell, for you know the burt hen of my Leart,

Its killing anguish, and its secret imart.,
Soon the divin'd what this confulon meant,
And ruels’d with ease the cause of my complaint.
My congue em boldening as her looks were miid,
At length 1 tok my griefz-ind it. the fmid.



O fyren! fyren! fair deluder, say,

When lo! astonish'd, an unusual light Why would you tempt to trust, and then betray? Pierc'd the thick shade, and all around grew bright; So faithless now, why gave you hopes before ? My dazzled eyes a radiant form behold, Alas! you should have been lets kind, or more. Splendid with light, like beams of burning gold; Tell, for you know the burthen of my heart,

Eternal rays his thining temples grace ; Its killing anguish, and its secret smart.

Eternal youth fat blooming on his face.

Trembling I listen, proftrate on the ground,
Secure of innocence, I seek to know
From whence this change, and my misfortunes grow,

His breath perfumes the grove, and music's in the

sound *. Rumour is loud, and every voice proclaims Her violated faith, and conscious fames :

Cease, lover, cease, thy tender heart to vex, Can this be true? Ah! Aattering mischief speak;

In fruitless plaints of an ungrateful sex. Could you make vows, and in a moment break ?

In Fate's eternal volumes it is writ, And can the space so very narrow be

That women ever ihall be foes to wit. Betwixt a woman's oath, and perjury?

With proper arts their fickly minds command, O Jealousy! all other ills at first

And please 'em with the things they understand ; My love eslay'd, but thou art sure the worst.

With noily fopperies their hearts affail,

Renounce all sense ; how should thy songs prevail, Tell, for you know the burthen of my heart,

When I, the God of Wit, so oft could fail? Its killing anguish, and its secret smart.

Remember me, and in my story find Ungrateful Myra! urge me thus no more,

How vainly merit pleads to womankind : Nor think me tame, that once so long I bore ; I, by whom all things Thine, who tune the spheres, If passion, dire revenge, or black despair,

Create the day, and gild the night with stars ; Should once prevail beyond what man can bear, Whole youth and beauty, from all ages past, Who knows what I ? Ah! feeble rage, and vain! Sprang with the world, and with the world shall lam. With how secure a brow she mocks my pain :

How oft with fruitless tears have I implored Thy heart, fond lover, does thy threats belie,

Ungrateful nymphs, and though a God, ador'd? Canit thou hurt her, for whom thou yet wouldst die ? When could my wit, my beauty, or my youth, Nor durft the thus thy just resentment brave,

Move a hard heart? or mov'd, secure ics truth? But that the knows how much thy soul's her Nave.

Here a proud nymph, with painful steps I chace, But see! Aurora rising with the sun,

The winds out-flying in our nimble race ; Diffolves my charm, and frees th'enchanted moon ;

Stay, Daphne, ftay. In vain, in vain I try My spells no longer bind at sight of day,

To stop her speed, redoubling at my cry, And young Endymion calls his love away :

O'er craggy rocks, and rugged hills the climbs, Love's the reward of all, on earth, in heaven, And tears on pointed Aints, her tender limbs : And for a plague to me alone was given :

'Till caught at length, just as my arms I fold, But ills not to be Thunn'd we must endure,

Turn’d to a trec the yet escapes my hold.
Death, and a broken heart's a ready cure.

In my next love, a diff'rent fate I find,
Cynthia, farewel, go rest thy wearied light,
I must for ever wake-We'll meet again at night.

Ah! which is worse, the false, or the unkind?
Forgetting Daphne, I Coronis † chose,
A kinder nymph too kind for my repose :

The joys I give, but more provoke her breast,

She keeps a private drudge to quench the rest ;

How, and with whom, the very birds proclaim N lonely walks, by

Her black pollution, and reveal my shame.

Hard lot of beauty! fatally bestow'd, My eyes o'erflowing, and my frantic mind

Or given to the false, or to the proud; Ráck'd with wild thoughts, swelling with fighs the By different ways they bring us equal pain, wind;

The false betray us, and the proud disdain. Through paths untrodden, day and night I rove, Scorn'd and abus’d, from mortal loves I Ay, Mourning the fate of my successless love.

To seek more truth in my own native sky.
Who moft defire to live, untimely fall,

Venus, the fairest of immortal loves,
But when we beg to die, death flies our call; Bright as my beams, and gentle as her doves,
Adonis dies, and torn is the lov'd breast

With glowing eyes, confefiing warm desires, in midst of joy, where Venus wont to rest ;

She summon; heaven and earth to quench her fires, That fate, which cruel seem'd to him, would be

Me the excludes ; and I in vain adore, Pity, relief, and happiness to me.

Who neither God nor man refus'd before ; When will my sorrows end? In vain, in vain

Vulcan, the very monster of the skies, I call to heaven, and tell the Gods my pun ;

Vulcan she takes, the God of Wit denies. The Gods averse, like Myra, to my prayer,

• Then cease to murmur a: thy Myra's pride,
Consent to doom, whom she denies to spare.
Why do I seek for foreign aids, when I

Whimsy, not Reafon, is the female guide :
Bear ready by my side the power to die?
Be keen, my sword, and serve thy master well,

Heal wounds with wounds, and love with death repel. + A nymph belov'd by Apollo, but at the same
Straight up I rose, and to my aking breaít,

time had a private intrigue with one Ischis, which was My bolun bare, the ready point I prest;

discovered by a crow.


Ishunthyng Mankind, and then with Killing care,

Those loaden boughs that with their burden bend
To court his taste, and yet escape his hand,
All this is Love, that to dissembled joys
Invites vain men, with real grief destroys.


The fate, of which their master does complain,
Is of bad omen to th' inspired train.
What vows have fail'd? Hark how Catullus mourns,
How Ovid weeps, and lighted Gallus burns ;
In melting strains see gentle Waller bleed,
Unmor'd she heard, what none unmov'd can read.
And thou, who oft with such ambitious choice,
Haft rais'd to Myra thy aspiring voice,
What profit thy neglected zeal repays?
Ah what return? Ungrateful to thy praise ?

Change, change thy style, with mortal rage return
Unjuft disdain, and pride oppose to scorn ;
Search all the secrets of the fair and young,
And then proclaim, soon thall they bribe thy tongue;
The sharp detractor with success affails,
Sure to be gentle to the man that rails;
Women, like cowards, tame to the severe,
Are only fierce when they discover fear.

Thus spake the God; and upward mounts in air, In just relentment of his past despair. Provok'd to vengeance, to my aid I call The furies round, and dip my pen in gall : Not one thall 'scape of all the cozening sex, Vex'd fall they be, who so delight to vex. In vain I try, in vain to vengeance move Miy gentle mure, fo us 'd to tender love; Such magic rules my heart, whate'er I write Turns all to soft complaint, and amorous flight. Begone, fond thoughts, begone, be bold, said I, Satire 's thy theme-In vain again I try, So charming Myra to each sense appears, My soul adores, my rage dissolves in tears.

So the gall'd lion, fmarting with his wound, Threatens his foes and makes the forest found, With his strong teeth he bites the bloody dart, And tears his fide with more provoking linart, Till having spent his voice in fruithai crics, He lays him down, breaks his proud heart, and dies.


1. NOUCH, enough, my soul, of worldly noise,

Of acry pomps, and feeting joys; What does this busy world provide at best,

But brittle goods that break like glass,
But poison'd lweets, a troubled feast,
And pleasures like the winds, that in a moment pass?
Thy thoughts to nobler meditations give,
And study how no die, not how to live.

How frail is beauty? Ah! how vain,

And how short-liv'd those glories are,
That vex our nights and days with pain,

And break our hearts with care !
In duit we no distinction see,
Such Helen is, such, Myra, thou must be.

How short is life? why will vain courtiers toil,
And croud a vainer monarch, for a smile;
What is that monarch, but a mortal man,
Eis crown a pageant, and his life a span ?
With all his guards and his dominions, he
Muft ficken too, and die as well as we.

Those boasted names of Conquerors and of Kings
Are swallow'd, and become forgotten things :
One defin'd period men in common have
The great, the base, the coward, and the brave,
All food alike for worms, companions in the grave.
The prince and parasite together lie,
No fortune can exalt, but death will climb as high.



ADIEU L'AMOUR. ERE end my chains, and thraldoni cease,

If not in joy, I'll live at least in peace; Since for the pleasures of an hour,

We must endure an age of pain,
I'll be this abject thing no more,

Love, give me back my heart again.
Despair tormented firft my breat,
Now falsehood, a more cruel guest;
O! for the peace of humin kind;
Mike women longer true, or fooner kind;

With justice, or with mercy reign,
O Love! or give me back my heart again.


Ufon unnatural Flights Poetry.
S when some image of a charming face

In living paint, an artist tries to trace,
He carefully confults each beauteous line,
Adjusting to his object, his design,
We praise the piece, and give the painter fame,
But as the just resemblance speaks the dame.
Poets are linners of another kind,
To copy out ideas in the mind;
Words are the paint by which their thoughts are shown,
And nature fits, the object to be drawn,
The written picture we applaud, or blame,
But as the due proportions are the same.

Who driven with ungovernable fire,
Or void of art, beyond there bounds aspire,
Gigantic forms, and monstrous births alone
Produce, which Nature shock'd, disdains to own.
By true reflexion I wjuld fee ny face,
Why brings the fool a magnifying glais ?

(1) “ But

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(1) “ But Poetry in fiction takes delight,

(6) The * Roman wit, who impionly divides “ And mounting in bold figures out of sight, His hero, and his gods to diff'rent Gides, “ Leaves Truth behind, in her audacious tiight: I would condemn, but that in spite of sense “ Fables and me aphors, that always lie,

Th' admiring world still tands in his defence. “ And raih hyperboles that foar so high,

How oft, alas! the best of men in vain " And every ornament of verse mult die." Contend for bleflings which the worst obtain ! Mistake me not: no figures I excludi;

The Gods, permitting traitors to succeed, And but forbid intemperance, not food.

Become not parties in an impious deed : Who would with care some happy fiction frame, Ani by the tyrant's murder, we may find So mimicks truth, it looks the very fame ;

That Cato and the Gods were of a mind. Not rais'd to force, or feign'd in nature's scorn, Thưs forcing truth with such prepost'rous praise, But meant to grace, illustrate, and adorn.

Our characters we leffen, when we'd raise : Important truths till let your fables hold,

Like castles built by magic art in air, And inoral mysteries with it unfold.

That vanish at approach, such thoughts appear ; Ladies and beaux to please, is all the task,

But rais'd on truth, by some judicious hand, But the sharp critic will instruction ask.

As on a rock they Mall for ages stand. (2) A veil: transparent cover, but not hide, (7) Our King freturn'd, and banish'd peace restord, Such metaphors appear when right apply'd;

The Muse ran mid to see her exil'd Lord; When thro' the phrase we plainly see the sense, On the crack'd fage the bedlam heroes roard, Truth, where the meaning's obvious, will dispense;

And scarce could speak one reasonable word; The seader what in reason's due, believes,

Dryden himself, to please a frantic age, Nor can we call that false, which not deceives.

Was forc'd to let his judgment stoop to rage, (3) Hyperboles, fo daring and so boid,

To a wild audience he conform'd his voice, Disdaining bounds, are yet by rules control'd; Comply'd to custom, but not err'd by choice: Above the clouds, but still within our sight,

Deem then the people's, oot the writer's fun, They inount with truth, and make a tow’ring flight, Almansor's rage, and rants of Maximin ; Presenting things impossible to view,

That fury spent in each elaborate piece, They wander thro' incredible to true :

He vies for fame with ancient Rome and Greece. Falsehoods thus mix'd, like metals are refind,

First | Mulgrave rore, Roscommon next, like light, And truth, like silver, leaves the dross behind.

To clear our darkness, and to guide our flight; Thus Poetry has ample space to soar,

With stcady judgment, and in lorty sounds, Nor needs forbidden regions to explore :

They gave us patterns, and they sét us bounds; Such vaunts as his, who can with patience read, The Stagirite and Horace laid aside, Who thus describes his hero Nain and dead :

Inform’d by them, we need no foreign guide : (4)“ Kill'd as * he was, insensible of death, Who seek from poetry a lasting name,

“ He ftill fights on, and scorns to yield his breath." | May in their lesions learn the road to fame : The noisy Culverin o'ercharg'd, lets fly,

But let the bold adventurer be sure And burst unaiming in the rended sky:

That every line the test of truth endure ; Such frantic flights are like a madman's dream, On this fisundation may the fabric rife, And nature suffers in the wild extreme.

Firm and unihaken, till it touch the skies. The captive Cannibal weigh'd down with chains, From pulpits banishid, from the court, from love, Yet braves his foes, reviles, provokes, disdains, Forsaken Truth seeks Thelter in the grove ; Of nature fierce, untameable, and proud,

Cherish, ye Muses ! the neglected fair, He grins defiance at the gaping crowd,

And take into your train th' abandon'd wanderer. And spent at last, and speechless as he lics, With looks still threatning, mocks their rage and dies, This is the utmost stre:clı that Nature can,

EXPLANATORY ANNOTATIONS And all beyond, is fulsome, false, and vain.

Beauty's the theme; some nymph divinely fair Excites the Musc: let truth be even there :

FOREGOING POEM. As painters Aatter, so may poets too,

(1) But to resemblance must be ever true.

HE Poetic world is nothing but fi&tion ; Par(5) “ The + day that the was born, the Cyprian Queen gination and chimera : but being however a system

“ Had like t' have dy'd thro'envy and thro’ spleen; universally agreed on, all that has or may be contrived “ The Graces in a hurry left the skies

or invented upon this foundation, according to nature, “ To have the honor to attend her eyes;

shall be reputed as truth ; but whatsoever shall dimi“ And love, despairing in her heart a place, nith frorn, or exceed the just proportions of natur,

“ Would needs take up his lodging in her face." shall be rejected as false, and pafs for extravagance ; Tho' wrote by great Corneille, such lines as the fe,

as dwarfs and giants, for monsters. Such civil nonfense sure could never please. Waller, the best of all th' inspir'd train,

* Lucan. To melt the fuir, instructs the dying swain.

+ King Charles II. • Ariosto.

| Earl of Mulgrave's Efíay upon Poetry; and Lord + Corncille.

Roscommon's upon tranllated Verse,



(1) Thanasiegarus,

and the Mures , pure ima

(2) When

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