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A figh, or tear, perhaps, she'll give,
But love on pity cannot live.
Tell her, that hearts for hearts were made,
And love with love is only paid.
Tell her, my pains so fast increase,
That foon they will be past redress;
For ah! the wretch that speechless lies,
Attends but death to close his eyes.

DRYDEN.

ES, faireft proof of beauty's power,

Nature points this my fatal hour;

And I have liv'd; and we must part.

While now I take my

last adieu Heave thou no figh, nor shed a tear, Left yet my half-clos'd

eye may

view On earth an object worth its care..

From

From jealousy's tormenting ftrife

For ever be thy bosom freed; That nothing may disturb thy life

Content I hasten to the dead.

Yet when some better fated youth

Shall with his amorous parly move thee, Reflect one moment on his truth

Who dying thus perfifts to love thee.

PRIOR.

N vain you tell your parting lover

I over :

Alas! what winds can happy prove
That bear me far from what I love ?
Alas! what dangers on the main
Can equal those which I fustain
From Nighted vows and cold disdain ?

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Bc gentle, and in pity choose
To wish the wildest tempests loose ;
That, thrown again upon the coast
Where first my shipwreck'd heart was lost,
I may once more repeat my pain,
Once more in dying notes complain
Of Nighțed vows and cold disdain.

PRIOR,

TH!

HE heavy hours are almost past

That part my love and me; My longing eyes may hope at last

Their only wish to see,

But how, my Delia, will

you meet The man you've lost so long ? Will love in all your pulses beat,

And tremble on your tongue ?

Will you in every look declare

Your heart is still the fame;

And

And heal each idle anxious care

Our fears in absence frame ?

Thus Delia, thus I paint the scene

When shortly we shall meet, And

try what yet remains between Of loit'ring time to cheat.

But if the dream that sooths my mind

Shall false and groundless prove, If I am doom'd at length to find

You have forgot to love;

All I of Venus ask is this,

No more to let us join ;
But grant me here the flatt’ring bliss,

To die and think you mine,

Lyttelton.

IF

F wine and music have the

power To ease the sickness of the soul, Let Phoebus every string explore,

And Bacchus fill the sprightly bowl.

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Let them their friendly aid employ

To make my Chloe's absence light, And seek for pleasure, to destroy

The forrows of this live-long night.

But she to-morrow will return;

Venus be thou to-morrow great, Thy myrtles strew, thy odours burn,

And meet thy fav’rite nymph in ftate.
Kind Goddess, to no other pow'rs

Let us to-morrow's blessings own ;
The darling Loves shall guide the hours,

And all the day be thine alone.

PRIOR,

W

HEN Delia on the plain appears,

Aw'd by a thousand tender fears, I would approach, but dare not move ; Tell me my heart if this be love?

Whene'er

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