When fummer funs fhine forth no more,
Will then this lime its fhelter yield?
Protect us when the tempefts roar,

And winter drives us from the field?

Yet faithful then the fir fhall last

I fmile, fhe cry'd, but ah! I tremble, To think when my fair season's past, Which Damon then will moft resemble.

ANSWER.

OO tim'rous maid, can time or chance
A pure ingenuous mind controul?

O lay afide that tender glance,

That melts my frame, that kills my foul!

Were but thy outward charms admir'd,

Frail origin of female fway!

My flame like other flames inspir'd,
Might then like other flames decay:

But

But whilst thy mind shall seem thus fair,

Thy foul's unfading charms be feen,

Thou may'ft refign that shape and air,

But shall I make the angry vow,
Which tempts my wavering mind?
Shall dark fufpicion cloud my brow,
And bid me fhun mankind?

Avaunt, thou hell-born fiend! no more
Pretend my steps to guide;

Let me be cheated o'er and o'er,

But let me ftill confide.

If

If this be folly, all my claim
To wisdom I refign;

But let no fage presume to name
His happiness with mine.

LYSANDER to CLOE.

IS true, my wish will never find

"TIS

Another nymph fo fair, so true;

Since all that's bright, and all that's kind, In thofe expreffive eyes I view.

And I with grateful zeal could haste
To China for the mereft toy;
Could fcorch on Lybia's barren waste,
To give my dear a moment's joy.

But fickle as the wave or wind,

I once may flight those lovely arms; Pardon a free ingenuous mind,

I do not half deserve thy charms.

If I in any praise excel,

'Tis in foft themes to paint my flame; But Cloe's sweetness bids me tell,

I fhall not long remain the fame.

I know its feafon will expire,
Replac'd by cool esteem alone;
Nor more thy matchlefs breast admire
Than I deteft and fcorn my own.

This interval my fate allows,

And friendship dictates all I fay; O fhun to hear my future vows, When giddy love refumes the lay.

So fome poor maniac can foresee

The random hours of madness nigh;
He mourns the fates' fevere decree,
And cautions whom he loves to fly.

CLOE

CLOE to LYSANDER.

F vagrant loves, and fickle flames
Lyfander's Mufe may tell,

And fure fuch artlefs freedom claims

His Cloe's best farewel.

Whene'er his heart becomes the theme

We fee his fancy shine;

But let not vain Lyfander dream

That e'er that heart was mine.

Can he that fondly hopes to move,
With caution chill his lay?

Can he who feels the power of love,
Foretel that love's decay?

Why teize believing nymphs in vain?

Go feek fome pathless vale,

And listen to thy vocal strain

Soft echoing down the dale.