The fruits of conqueft now begin; Iö triumph! Enter in. What's this, ye Gods! what can it be? Remains there still an enemy? Bold Honour stands up in the gate, And would yet capitulate; Have I o'ercome all real foes, Noify nothing stalking fhade! But I fhall find out counter-charms, Sure I fhall rid myself of thee Unlike to every other sprite, Thou attempt'ft not men t' affright, THE INNOCENT IL L THO HOUGH all thy gestures and discourses be Though from thy tongue ne'er flipp'd away One word which nuns at th' altar might not fay; Yet Yet fuch a sweetness, such a grace, In all thy speech appear, That what to th' eye a beauteous face, So cunningly it wounds the heart, It strikes fuch heat through every part, That thou a tempter worse than Satan art. Though in thy thoughts scarce any tracks have been So much as of original fin, Such charms thy beauty wears as might Defires in dying confefs'd faints excite: Doft in each breast a brothel keep; And fome enjoy thee when they fleep. Who to fuch multitudes did give Though in thy breast so quick a pity be, That a fly's death 's a wound to thee You do the treble office do Of judge, of torturer, and of weapon too. Thou Thou lovely inftrument of angry Fate, Which God did for our faults create! Thou pleasant, universal ill, Which, fweet as health, yet like a plague doft kill! Thou chafte committer of a rape! Thou voluntary destiny, Which no man can, or would, escape ! So wondrous good, and wondrous fair, (We know) ev'n the deftroying-angels are. DIALOGU HAT have we done? what cruel paffion She. WHAT mov'd thee, Thus to ruin her that lov'd thee? Me thou 'ft robb'd; but what art thou Thyfelf the richer now? Shame fucceeds the fhort-liv'd pleasure; So foon is spent, and gone, this thy ill-gotten treasure ! He. We ?ave done no harm; nor was it theft in me, But nobleft charity in thee. I'll the well-gotten pleafure Safe in my memory treasure: What though the flower itself do waste, The effence from it drawn does long and fweeter last. She. She. No I'm undone; my honour thou haft flain, And nothing can restore 't again.. Art and labour to bestow, Upon the carcafe of it now, Is but t' embalm a body dead; The figure may remain, the life and beauty 's fled, He. Never, my dear, was honour yet undone By Love, but Indifcretion. To th' wife it all things does allow; Like tapers fhut in ancient urns, Unless it let-in air, for ever shines and burns. She. Thou firft, perhaps, who didft the fault commit, Wilt make thy wicked boaft of it; For men, with Roman pride, above Nor think a perfect victory gain'd, Unless they through the streets their captive lead enchain'd. He. Whoe'er his fecret joys has open laid, Who have not only ta'en, but bound and gagg'd me too. She. Though public punishment we escape, the fin Guilt and fin our bosom bears; And, though fair yet the fruit appears, That worm which now the core does wafte, When long 't has gnaw'd within, will break the skin at laft. He. That thirty drink, that hungry food, I fought, And thou in pity didst apply, The kind and only remedy: The caufe abfolves the crime; fince me So mighty force did move, fo mighty goodness thee. She. Curfe on thine arts! methinks I hate thee now; And yet I'm fure I love thee too! I'm angry; but wrath will prove my More innocent than did thy love. Thou haft this day undone me quite ; Yet wilt undo me more should'st thou not come at night. VERSES LOST UPON A WAGER. As S foon hereafter will I wagers lay 'Gainst what an oracle fhall fay; Fool that I was, to venture to deny A tongue fo us'd to victory! A tongue fo bleft by nature and by art, Though |