Oh! would to heav'n!-but the fond wish is vain-
Too many favours had not made it plain!

But fuch a paffion breaks through all disguise,

Love reddens on my cheek, and wishes in my eyes.
Is't not enough (inhuman and unkind!)

I own the secret conflict of my mind;

You cannot know what fecret pain I prove,
When I with burning blushes own I love.
You see my artlefs joy at your approach,
Ì figh, I faint, I tremble at your touch;
And in your abfence all the world I fhun;
I hate mankind, and curfe the chearing fun.
Still as I fly, ten thousand swains pursue;
Ten thousand swains I facrifice to you.
I fhew you all my heart without disguise :
But these are tender proofs that you defpife→→→
I fee too well what wishes you pursue;
You would not only conquer, but undo:
You, cruel victor, weary of your flame,
Would seek a cure in my eternal shame
And not content my honour to fubdue,
Now ftrive to triumph o'er my virtue too.
Oh! Love, a god indeed to woman kind,
Whofe arrows burn me, and whofe fetters bind,

Avenge thy altars, vindicate thy fame,
And blast these traitors that profane thy name;

Who by pretending to thy facred fire,

Raise curfed trophies to impure defire.

Have

you forgot with what enfnaring art You first feduc'd this fond uncautious heart?

Then as I fled, did you not kneeling cry,

66

Turn, cruel beauty; whither would you fly?

Why all these doubts? why this distrustful fear? "No impious wishes fhall offend your ear:

"Nor ever fhall my boldeft hopes pretend
"Above the title of a tender friend;

"Bleft, if my lovely goddess will permit
"My humble vows, thus fighing at her feet.
"The tyrant Love that in my bofom reigns,
"The god himself fubmits to wear your chains.
"You thall direct his courfe, his ardour tame,
"And check the fury of his wildest flame."

Unpractis'd youth is easily deceiv'd;
Sooth'd by fuch founds, I liften'd and believ'd;
Now quite forgot that foft fubmiffive fear,

You dare to ask what I must blush to hear.
Could I forget the honour of my race,

And meet your wishes, fearless of disgrace;

Could

Could paffion o'er my tender youth prevail,
And all my mother's pious maxims fail;

Yet to preserve your heart (which still must be,
Falfe as it is, for ever dear to me)

This fatal proof of love I would not give,

fhun

Which you'd contemn the moment you receive.
The wretched fhe, who yields to guilty joys,
A man may pity, but he must despise.
Your ardour ceas'd, I then should fee you
The wretched victim by your arts undone.
Yet if I could that cold indifference bear,
What more would ftrike me with the last despair,
With this reflection would my foul be torn,
To know I merited your cruel fcorn.

"Has love no pleasures free from guilt or fear? "Pleasures lefs fierce, more lafting, more fincere ? "Thus let us gently kifs and fondly gaze, "Love is a child, and like a child it plays."

O STREPHON, if you would continue juft, If love be fomething more than brutal lust, Forbear to ask what I muft ftill deny,

This bitter pleasure, this destructive joy,

So closely follow'd by the dismal train

Of cutting fhame, and guilt's heart-piercing pain.

She

She paus'd; and fix'd her eyes upon her fan;
He took a pinch of fnuff, and thus began;
Madam, if love-but he could fay no more,
For Mademoiselle came rapping at the door.
The dangerous moments no adieus afford;
-Begone, fhe cries, I'm fure I hear my lord.
The lover starts from his unfinish'd loves,

To fnatch his hat, and feek his fcatter'd gloves:
The fighing dame to meet her dear prepares,
While Strephon curfing flips down the back-stairs.

T

THURSDAY.

The BASSETTE-TABLE.

SMILINDA and CARDELIA.

CARDELIA.

HE baffette-table spread, the tallier come,
Why ftays SMILINDA in the dreffing-room?

Rife,

Rife, penfive nymph! the tallier stays for you..
SMILINDA.

Ah! Madam, fince my SHARPER is untrue,
I joyless make my once ador'd alpieu.
I saw him stand behind OMBRELIA's chair,
And whisper with that foft, deluding air,
And thofe feign'd fighs, that cheat the lift'ning fair.
CARDELIA.

Is this the caufe of your romantic strains?
A mightier grief my heavy heart fuftains.
As

you by Love, so I by Fortune cross'd,

In one bad deal three feptlevas I loft.

SMILINDA.

Is that a grief which you compare with mine?
With ease the smiles of Fortune I refign.

Would all my gold in one bad deal were gone,
Were lovely SHARPER mine, and mine alone.
CARDELIA.

A lover loft is but a common care,

And prudent nymphs against the change prepare.
of clubs thrice loft! oh! who could guefs

The

queen

This fatal ftroke! this unforeseen diftrefs!

SMILINDA.

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