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THE

SPE L L.

WHENE'ER I wive, young Strephon cry'd,

Ye powers that o'er the noose prefide!

Wit, beauty, wealth, and humour, give,

Or let me ftill a rover live:

But if all these no nymph can share,
And I'm predeftin'd to the fnare,

Let mine, ye powers! be doubly fair.

Thus pray'd the swain in heat of blood,
Whilst Cupid at his elbow stood;

And twitching him, faid, Youth, be wife,
Afk not impoffibilities:

A faultlefs make, a manag'd wit,
Humour and fortune never met:
But if a beauty you'd obtain,

Court fome bright Phyllis of the brain;
The dear idea long enjoy,

Clean is the blifs, and will not cloy.
But truft me, youth, for I'm fincere,
And know the ladies to a hair:
Howe'er fmall poets whine upon it,
In madrigal, and fong, and fonnet,
Their beauty's but a SPELL, to bring
A lover to th' inchanted ring;
Ere the fack poffet is digested,
Or half of Hymen's taper wafted,
The winning air, the wanton trip,
The radiant eye, the velvet lip,

From

From which you fragrant kisses stole,
And seem to fuck her springing soul.---
Thefe, and the reft, you doted on,
Are naufeous or infipid grown;
The SPELL diffolves, the cloud is gone,
And Sachariffa turns to Joan.

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IF

Does, with the day, his mother's grief renew;
If her fon's death mov'd tender Thetis' mind

To fwell with tears the waves, with fighs the wind;
If mighty Gods can mortals' forrow know,
And be the humble partners of our woe;
Now loose your treffes, penfive Elegy,
(Too well your office and your name agree)
Tibullus, once the joy and pride of Fame,
Lies now rich fuel on the trembling flame.
Sad Cupid now defpairs of conquering hearts,
Throws-by his empty quiver, breaks his darts;
Eafes his useless bows from idle strings,
Nor flies, but humbly creeps with flagging wings.
He wants, of which he robb'd fond lovers, rest,
And wounds with furious hands his pensive breast.

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Thofe

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Thofe graceful curls which wantonly did flow,
The whiter rivals of the falling fnow,

Forget their beauty, and in discord lie,
Drunk with the fountain from his melting eye.
Not more Æneas' loss the boy did move;
Like paffions for them both, prave equal love.
Tibullus' death grieves the fair goddess more,
More fwells her eyes, than when the favage boar
Her beautiful, her lov'd Adonis tore.

Poets large fouls heaven's nobleft stamps do bear
(Poets, the watchful angels darling care):
Yet death (blind archer) that no difference knows,
Without respect his roving arrows throws.
Nor Phoebus, nor the Mufes' queen, could give
Their fon, their own prerogative, to live.
Orpheus, the heir of both his parents' skill,

Tam'd wondering beafts, and Death's more cruel will.
Linus' fad ftrings on the dumb lute do lie,
In filence forc'd to let their master die.
Homer (the fpring to whom we poets owe
Our little all does in fweet numbers flow)
Remains immortal only in his fame,

His works alone furvive the envious flame.
In vain to Gods (if Gods there are) we pray,
And needlefs victims prodigally pay,
Worship their fleeping deities: yet Death
Scorns votaries, and stops the praying breath.
To hallow'd fhrines intruding Fate will come,
And drag you from the altar to the tomb.

Go,

Go, frantic poet, with delufions fed,

Think laurels guard your confecrated head,
Now the sweet mafter of your art is dead.
What can we hope? fince that a narrow span
Can measure the remains of thee, great man!
The bold rash flame that durft approach fo nigh,
And fee Tibullus, and not trembling die,
Durst seize on temples, and their gods defy.
Fair Venus (fair ev'n in fuch forrows) ftands,
Clofing her heavy eyes with trembling hands:
Anon, in vain, officioufly fhe tries.

To quench the flame with rivers from her eyes.
His mother weeping does his eye-lids close,
And on his urn tears, her last gift, bestows.
His fifter too, with hair difhevel'd, bears
Part of her mother's nature, and her tears.

With thofe, two fair, two mournful rivals come,
And add a greater triumph to his tomb :

Both hug his urn, both his lov'd ashes kifs,

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And both contend which reap'd the greater blifs.
Thus Delia spoke (when fighs no more could laft)
Renewing by remembrance pleasures past ;
"When youth with vigour did for joy combine,
"I was Tibullus' life, Tibullus mine:
"I entertain'd his hot, his first defire,

"And kept alive, till age, his active fire."
To her then Nemefis (when groans gave leave),
"As I alone was lov'd, alone I'll grieve:

"Spare your vain tears, Tibullus' heart was mine,
"About my neck his dying arms did twine;

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"I fnatch'd

"I fnatch'd his foul, which true to me did prove : "Age ended yours, death only stopp'd my love.” If any poor remains furvive the flames,

Except thin fhadows, and more empty names;
Free in Elyfium fhall Tibullus rove,

Nor fear a second death fhould crofs his love.
There fhall Catullus, crown'd with bays, impart
To his far dearer friend his open heart:

There Gallus (if Fame's hundred tongues all lye)
Shall, free from cenfure, no more rashly die.
Such fhall our poet's bleft companions be,
And in their deaths, as in their lives, agree.
But thou, rich urn, obey my strict commands,
Guard thy great charge from facrilegious hands.
Thou, Earth, Tibullus' afhes gently use,
And be as foft and eafy as his Mufe.

TO THE EVENING STAR.

Englished from a Greek Idyllium.

BRIGHT Star! by Venus fix'd above

To rule the happy realms of love;
Who in the dewy rear of day,
Advancing thy diftinguish'd ray,
Doft other lights as far out-fhine
As Cynthia's filver glories thine G
Known by fuperior beauty there,
As much as Paftorella here.

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