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Peace, Chloris, peace! or finging die;
That together you and I

To heaven may go:

For all we know

Of what the Blessed do above

Is, that they fing, and that they love.


OT caring to obferve the wind,

Or the new fea explore,

Snatch'd from myfelf, how far behind
Already I behold the fhore!

May not a thousand dangers fleep
In the smooth bofom of this Deep?
No: 'tis fo rocklefs, and fo clear,
That the rich bottom does appear
Pav'd all with precious things; not torn
From fhip-wreck'd veffels, but there born.

Sweetness, truth, and every grace,
Which time, and use, are wont to teach,
The eye may in a moment reach,
And read diftinctly in her face..

Some other nymphs, with colours faint,
And pencil flow, may Cupid paint,
And a weak heart in time destroy;
She has a stamp, and prints the Boy:
Can, with a fingle look, inflame
The coldest breaft, the rudeft tame,

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T is not that I love you lefs,


Than when before your feet I lay :

But, to prevent the fad increase

Of hopeless love, I keep away.

In vain, alas! for every thing,
Which I have known belong to you,.
Your form does to my fancy bring,

And makes my old wounds bleed anew.

Who in the spring, from the new fun
Already has a fever got,

Too late begins those shafts to shun,

Which Phoebus through his veins has shot:

Too late he would the pain affwage,
And to thick fhadows does retire:
About with him he bears the rage,
And in his tainted blood the fire.

But vow'd I have, and never must
Your banish'd fervant trouble you:

For if I break, you may mistrust
The vow I made-to love you too.


Go, lovely rofe!

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Tell her that waftes her time, and me,

That now the knows,

When I resemble her to thee,

How fweet, and fair, fhe feems to be.

Tell her that's young,

And fhuns to have her graces spy'd,

That hadft thou sprung

In deferts, where no men abide,
Thou must have uncommended dy'd,

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Then die! that the

The common fate of all things rare

May read in thee:

How fmall a part of time they share,

That are fo wondrous fweet and fair!.

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Her bounty, fweetnefs, beauty, goodness, fuch,
That none e'er thought her happiness too much :
So well inclin'd her favours to confer,

And kind to all, as Heaven had been to her!
The virgin's part, the mother, and the wife,
So well she acted in the span of life,

That though few years (too few alas !) she told,
She feem'd in all things, but in beauty, old.
As unripe fruit, whofe verdant stalks do cleave
Close to the tree, which grieves no lefs to leave
The smiling pendant which adorns her so,
And until autumn, on the bough should grow :
So feem'd her youthful foul not cafily forc'd,
Or from fo fair, fo fweet, a feat divorc'd.
Her fate at once did hafty feem, and flow;
At once too cruel, and unwilling too..


Under how hard a law are mortals born!

Whom now we envy, we anon must mourn :
What Heaven fets highest, and seems most to prize,
Is foon removed from our wondering eyes!

But fince the * Sifters did fo foon untwine
So fair a thread, I'll ftrive to piece the line.
Vouchsafe, fad nymph !: to let me know the dame,
And to the Mufes I'll commend her name:
Make the wide country echo to your moan,
The listening trees, and favage mountains, groan;,

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