an abfence of five or fix months in town, I find the ladies ftill the fame; that is to fay, ftill various. Those who were in love when I went from hence, are in love ftill; but they are in love with other men. They are conftant to love, but inconftant to the lovers; and in this point, to speak the truth among friends, I think there is no great difference between the two fexes. The men complain of the women's inconftancy, and the women of the men's; for my part, being unwilling to difoblige either, I am very apt to agree with both. But Cupid will have it fo; and what can weak mortals do against so potent a god? adieu, live pleasantly, that is, philofophically: and guard your heart from the pains of love..
O, little book, and to the world impart,
The faithful image of an am'rous heart;
Those who love's dear, deluding pains have known,
May in my fatal stories read their own.
Those who have liv'd from all its torments free,
May find the thing they never felt, by me;
Perhaps advis'd, avoid the guilded bait,
And, warn'd by my example, fhun my fate.
While with calm joy, fafe landed on the coast,
I view the waves on which I once was toft.
Love is a medley of endearments, jars,
Sufpicions, quarrels, reconcilements, wars;
Then peace again. Oh! wou'd it not be best,
To chase the fatal poison from our breaft?
But fince fo few can live from passion free,
Happy the man, and only happy he,
Who with fuch lucky ftars begins his love,
That his cool judgment does his choice approve.
Ill-grounded paffions quickly wear away;
What's built upon efteem, can ne'er decay.
ET the dull merchant curfe his angry fate,
And from the winds and waves his fortune wait :
Let the loud lawyer break his brains, and be
A flave to wrangling coxcombs for a fee:
Let the rough foldier fight his prince's foes,
And for a livelihood his life expose:
I wage no war, I plead no cause but love's,
I fear no ftorms, but what Celinda moves.
And what grave cenfor can my choice despise?
But here, fair charmer, here the diff'rence lies;
The merchant, after all his hazards past,
Enjoys the fruit of his long toils at last;
The foldier high in his king's favour stands,
And after having long obey'd, commands;
The lawyer, to reward his tedious care,
Roars on the bench, that babbled at the bar;
While I take pains to meet a fate more hard,
And reap no fruit, no favour, no reward.
Written in a lady's table book.
ITH what ftrange raptures wou'd my foul be
Were but her book an emblem of her breast?
As I from that all former marks efface,
And, uncontroul'd, put new ones in their place;
So might I chase all others from her heart,
And my own image in the ftead impart.
But, ah! how fhort the bliss wou'd prove, if he
Who feiz'd it next, might do the same by me.
The power of verfe.
To his mistress.
7Hile thofe bright eyes fubdue where-e'er you will, And, as you please, can either fave or kill;
What youth fo bold the conqueft to defign;
What wealth fo great to purchase hearts like thine?
None but the mufe that priviledge can claim,
And what you give in love, return in fame.
Riches and titles with your life must end,
Nay cannot e'en in life your fame defend;
Verse can give fame, can fading beauties fave,
And, after death, redeem 'em from the grave;
Embalm'd in verfe, thro' diftant times they come,
Preferv'd, like bees within an amber tomb.
Poets, like monarchs, on an eastern throne,
Restrain'd by nothing but their will alone,
Here can cry up, and there as boldly blame,
And, as they please, give infamy or fame.
In vain the Tyrian queen refigns her life,
For the bright glory of a spotlefs wife,
If lying bards may false amours rehearse,
And blast her name with arbitrary verse.
While + one who, all the abfence of her lord,' 'al
Had her wide courts with preffing lovers ftor'd;
Yet by a poet grac'd, in deathlefs rhymes,
Stands a chafte pattern to fucceeding times.
With pity then the mufes friends furvey,
Nor think your favours there are thrown away;
Wifely like feed or fruitful foil they're thrown,
To bring large crops of glory and renown.
For as the fun that in the marshes breeds
Nothing but naufeous and unwholfome weeds;
With the fame rays on rich and pregnant earth,
To pleasant flow'rs, and useful fruits gives birth;
So favours caft on fools, get only shame;
On poets fhed, produce eternal fame;
Their gen'rous breasts warm with a genial fire,
And more than all the mufes can infpire.
HO cou'd more happy, who more blest cou'd
live,
Than they whom kind, whom am'rous paffions move;
What crowns, what empires greater joys cou'd give,
Than the foft chains, the flavery of love?
Were not the blifs too often croft,
By that unhappy, vile diftruft,
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