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Make it so large, that, fill'd with fack

Up to the fwelling brim,

Vast toafts on the delicious lake,

Like ships at sea, may fwim.

111.

Engrave not battle on his cheek;

With war I've nought to do;
I'm none of those that took Mæstrick,
Nor Yarmouth leaguer knew.

IV.

Let it no name of planets tell,
Fix'd stars, or conftellations:

For I am no Sir Sidrophel,
Nor none of his relations.

V.

But carve thereon a spreading vine;
Then add two lovely boys;
Their limbs in amorous folds intwine,
The type of future joys.

VI. Cupid

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I.

S Chloris full of harmless thoughts
Beneath a willow lay,

Kind Love a youthful shepherd brought,

To pass the time away.

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Ah, youth! (faid she) what charms are these,

That conquer and surprize?

Ah! let me----for, unless you please,

I have no power to rife.

V.

You that could my heart subdue,

To new conquests ne'er pretend :

Let th' example make me true,

And of a conquer'd foe a friend.

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I

Cannot change, as others do,

Though you unjustly scorn;

Since that poor swain that fighs for you,
For you alone was born,

No, Phillis, no, your heart to move
A furer way I 'll try;

And, to revenge my flighted love,

Will still love on, will still love on, and die.

II.

When, kill'd with grief, Amyntas lies,

And you to mind shall call

The fighs that now unpity'd rise,

The tears that vainly fall :

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That welcome hour that ends this smart,
Will then begin your pain;
For fuch a faithful tender heart

Can never break, can never break in vain.

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MY dear mistress has a heart

Soft as those kind looks she gave me,

When, with love's refistless art,

And her eyes, she did enslave me.

But her constancy 's so weak,

She 's fo wild and apt to wander, That my jealous heart would break, Should we live one day afunder.

11.

Melting joys about her move,

Killing pleasures, wounding blisses :

She can dress her eyes in love,

And her lips can warm with kisses.

Angels listen when she speaks,

She's my delight, all mankind's wonder;

But my jealous heart would break,
Should we live one day afunder.

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LETTER

From ARTEMISA in the Town,

To CLOE in the Country.

CLOE, by your command in

verse I write;

Shortly you 'll bid me ride astride and fight :

Such talents better with our sex agree,
Than lofty flights of dangerous poetry.
Among the merr, I mean the men of wit,
(At least they pass'd for fuch before they writ)
How many bold adventurers for the bays,
Proudly designing large returns of praise;
Who durst that stormy pathless world explore,
Were foon dash'd back, and wreck'don the dull shore,
Broke of that little stock they had before !
How would a woman's tottering barque be tost,
Where ftouteft ships (the men of wit) are lost!
When I reflect on this, I straight grow wife,
And my own felf I gravely thus advise :

dull shore,

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Dear Artemisa! poetry 's a snare ; Bedlam has many manfions, have a care ; Your Muse diverts you, makes the reader sad; You think yourself inspir'd, he thinks you mad. Confider too, 'twill be difcreetly done, To make yourself the fiddle of the town. To find th' ill-humour'd pleasure at their need : Curs'd when you fail, and scorn'd when you succeed.

Thus,

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