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A SONG.

They swell, break down with rage, and ravage o'er “ Honour's got in, and keeps her heart, The banks they kiss'd, and powers they fed before. Durst he but venture once abroad, Submit then, Cælia, ere you be reduc'd,

In my own right I'd take your part, For rebels, vanquish'd once, are vilely us'd.

And show myself a mightier god." Beauty 's no more but the dead soil, which Love

This huffing Honour domineers Manures, and does by wise Commerce improve:

In breasts, where he alone has place: Sailing by sighs, through seas of tears, he sends

But if true generous Love appears,
Courtships from foreign hearts, for your own ends:
Cherish the trade, for as with Indians we

The hector dares not show his face.
Get gold and jewels, for our trumpery,

Let me still languish and complain, So to each other, for their useless toys,

Be most inhumanly deny'd : Lovers afford whole magazines of joys.

I have some pleasure in my pain, But, if you 're fond of baubles, be, and starve, She can have none with all her pride. Your gewgaw reputation still preserve:

I fall a sacrifice to Love, Live upon modesty and empty fame,

She lives a wretch for Honour's sake. Foregoing sense for a fantastic name.

Whose tyrant does most cruel prove,

The difference is not hard to make.
Consider real Honour then,

You'll find hers cannot be the same;
THE DISCOVERY.

"Tis noble confidence in men,

In women mean mistrustful shame.
Celia, that faithful servant you disown,
Would in obedience keep his love his own:
But bright ideas, such as you inspire,
We can no more conceal than not admire.

GRECIAN KINDNESS.
My heart at home in my own breast did dwell,
Like humble hermit in a peaceful cell:
Unknown and undisturb'd it rested there,

The utmost grace the Greeks could show, Stranger alike to Hope and to Despair.

When to the Trojans they grew kind, Now Love with a tumultuous train invades

Was with their arms to let them go,
The sacred quiet of those hallow'd shades;
His fatal flames shine ont to every eye,

And leave their lingering wives behind.

They beat the men, and burnt the town; Like blazing comets in a winter sky.

Then all the baggage was their own.
How can my passion merit your offence,
That challenges so little recompense?

There the kind deity of wine
For I am one born only to admire,

Kiss'd the soft wanton god of love; Too humble e'er to hope, scarce to desire.

This clapp'd his wings, that press'd his vine; A thing, whose bliss depends upon your will,

And their best powers united move, Who would be proud you'd deign to use him ill. While each brave Greek embrac'd his punk, Then give me leave to glory in my chain,

Lulld her asleep, and then grew drunk.
My fruitless sighs, and my unpity'd pain.
Let me but ever love, and ever be
Th' example of your power and cruelty.
Since so much scorn does in your breast reside,

THE MISTRESS.
Be more indulgent to its mother, Pride.
Kill all you strike, and trample on their graves;
Bat own the fates of your neglected slaves :
When in the crowd yours undistinguish'd lies An age, in her embraces past,
You give away the triumph of your eyes.

Would seem a winter's day;
Perhaps (obtaining this) you ’ll think I find Where life and light, with envious haste,
More mercy, than your anger has design'd:

Are torn and snatch'd away. But Love has carefully design'd for me,

But, oh! how slowly minutes roll, The last perfection of misery,

When absent from her eyes; Por to my state the hopes of common peace,

That fed my love, which is my soul;
Which every wretch enjoys in death, must cease,

It languishes and dies.
My worst of fates attend me in my grave,
Since, dying, I must be no more your slave. For then, no more a soul but shade,

It mournfully does move;
And haunts my breast, by absence made

The living tomb of love.

You wiser men despise me not;
WOMAN'S HONOUR.

Whose love-sick fancy raves,
On shades of souls, and Heaven knows what;

Short ages live in graves.
Love bid me hope, and I obey'd;

Whene'er those wounding eyes, so full Phillis continued still unkind:

Of sweetness you did see, " Then you may e'en despair,” he said,

Had you not been profoundly dull, “ In vain I strive to change her mind.

You had gone mad like me.

A SONG.

A SONG.

Nor censure us, you who perceive

So sweet a face, so soft a heart, My best-belov'd and me,

Such eyes so very kind, Sigh and lament, complain and grieve;

Betray, alas! the silly art You think we disagree.

Virtue had ill design'd. Alas! 'tis sacred jealousy,

Poor feeble tyrant! who in vain Love rais'd to an extreme;

Would proudly take upon her, The only proof, 'twixt them and me,

Against kind Nature to maintain We love, and do not dream.

Affected rules of Honour. Fantastic fancies fondly move,

The scorn she bears so helpless proves, And in frail joys believe :

When I plead passion to her, Taking false pleasure for true love;

That much she fears (but more she loves) But pain can ne'er deceive.

Her vassal should undo her.
Kind jealous doubts, tormenting fears,

And anxious cares, when past,
Prove our heart's treasure fix'd and dear,
And make us bless'd at last.

LOVE AND LIFE.

A SONG.

A SONG. ABSENT from thee I languish still;

Then ask me not, When I return? The straying fool 't will plainly kill,

To wish all day, all night to mourn. Dear, from thine arms then let me fly,

That my fantastic mind may prove The torments it deserves to try,

That tears my fix'd heart from my love.
When wearied with a world of woe

To thy safe bosom I retire,
Where love, and peace, and truth, does flow:

May I contented there expire !
Lest, once more wandering from that heaven,

I fall on some base heart unblest;
Faithless to thee, false, unforgiven,

And lose my everlasting rest.

All my past life is mine no more,

The flying hours are gone :
Like transitory dreams given o'er,
Whose images are kept in store

By memory alone.
The time that is to come is not;

How can it then be mine?
The present moment 's all my lot;
And that, as fast as it is got,

Phillis, is only thine.
Then talk not of inconstancy,

False hearts, and broken vows;
If I, by miracle, can be
This live-long minute true to thee,

"Tis all that Heaven allows.

A SONG.

A SONG. Puillis, be gentler, I advise,

Make up for time mis-spent, When Beauty on its death-bed lies,

'Tis high time to repent. Such is the malice of your fate,

That makes you old so soon;
Your pleasure ever comes too late,

How early e'er begun.
Think what a wretched thing is she,

Whose stars contrive, in spite,
The morning of her love should be

Her fading beauty's night.
Then if, to make yo'ır ruin more,

You'll peevishly be roy,
Die with the scandal of a whore,

And never know the joy.

While

hile on those lovely looks I gaze,

To see a wretch pursuing,
In raptures of a bless'd amaze,

His pleasing happy ruin:
'Tis not for pity that I move;

His fate is too aspiring,
Whose heart, broke with a load of love,

Dies wishing and admiring.
But if this murder you 'd forego,

Your slave from death remoring;
Let me your art of charming know,

Or learn you mine of loving.
But, whether life or death betide,

In love 'tis equal measure;
The victor lives with empty pride,

The vanquish'd die with pleasure.

TO CORINNA.

A SONG.

A SONG.
To this moment a rebel, I throw down my arms,
Great Love, at first sight of Olinda's bright charms:
Made proud and secure by such forces as these,
You may now play the tyrant as soon as you please.
When innocence, beauty, and wit, do conspire
To betray, and engage, and inflame my desire;
Why should I decline what I cannot avoid,
And let pleasing Hope by base Fear be destroy'd?

What cruel pains Corinna takes,

To force that harmless frown;
When not one charm her face forsakes.

Love cannot lose his own.

arms.

UPON

Her innocence cannot contrive to undo me,
Her beauty's iuclin'd, or why should it pursue me?

A SONG.
And wit has to pleasure been ever a friend;
Then what room for despair, since delight is Love's As Chloris, full of harmless thoughts,
end ?

Beneath a willow lay,
There can be no danger in sweetness and youth,

Kind Love a youthful shepherd brought,

To pass the time away.
Where love is secur'd by good-nature and truth.
On her beauty I'll gaze, and of pleasure complain; She blush'd to be encounter'd so,
While every kind look adds a link to my chain. And chid the amorous swain;
'Tis more to maintain, than it was to surprise,

But, as she strove to rise and go,
But her wit leads in triumph the slave of her eyes:

He pull'd her down again.
I beheld, with the loss of my freedom before; A sudden passion seiz'd her heart,
But, bearing, for ever must serve and adore.

In spite of her disdain ;
Too bright is my goddess, her temple too weak:

She found a pulse in every part,
Retire, divine image! I feel my heart break. And love in every vein.
Help, Love; I dissolve in a rapture of charms,

Ah, youth !” said she, “ what charms are these, At the thought of those joys I should meet in her

That conquer and surprise ?
Ah! let me-for, unless you please,

I have no power to rise.”

She fainting spoke, and trembling lay,
HIS LEAVING HIS MISTRESS.

For fear he should comply;

Her lovely eyes her heart betray,
Tis not that I am weary grown

And give her tongue the lie.
Of being yours, and yours alone :
But with what face can I incline

Thus she, who princes had deny'd,
To damn you to be only mine:

With all their pomp and train, You, whom some kinder power did fashion,

Was in the lucky minute try'd,
By merit, and by inclination,

And yielded to a swain.
The joy at least of a whole nation?
Let meaner spirits of your sex,
With humble aims their thoughts perplex:
And boast, if, by their arts, they can

A SONG.
Contrive to make one happy man.
While, mov'd by an impartial sense,

Give me leave to rail at you,
Favours, like Nature, you dispense,

I ask nothing but my dne;
With universal influence.

To call you false, and then to say,
You shall not keep my heart a day:
But, alas! against my will,
I must be your captive still.

Ah! be kinder then; for I
DRINKING IN A BOWL.

Cannot change, and would not die.

Kindness has resistless charms,
Vulcan, contrive me such a cup

All besides but weakly move,
As Nestor usd of old;
Show all thy skill to trim it up,

Fiercest anger it disarms,
Damask it round with gold.

And clips the wings of flying Love.

Beauty does the heart invade, Make it so large, that, fill'd with sack

Kindness only can persuade; Up to the swelling brim,

It gilds the lover's servile chain,
Vast toasts on the delicious lake,

And makes the slaves grow pleas'd again.
Like ships at sea, may swim.
Engrave not battle on his cheek;

With war I've nought to do;
I 'm none of those that took Mæstrick,

THE ANSWER.
Nor Yarmouth leaguer knew.
Let it no name of planets tell,

Nothing adds to your fond fire
Fix'd stars, or constellations :

More than scorn, and cold disdain : For I am no sir Sidrophel,

I, to cherish your desire, Nor none of his relations.

Kindness us d, but 't was in vain. But carve thereon a spreading vine;

You insisted on your slave, Then add two lovely boys;

Humble love you soon refus'd; Their limbs in amorous folds entwine,

Hope not then a power to have The type of future joys.

Which ingloriously you usd. Cupid and Bacchus my saints are.

Think not, Thyrsis, I will e'er May drink and love still reign !

By my love my empire lose; With wine I wash away my care,

You grow constant through despair, And then to Love again.

Love return'd you would abuse. VOL. VIII.

R

UPON

COUNTRY.

A SONG.

Though you still possess my heart,

Then spare a heart you may surprise, Scorn and rigour I must feign :

And give my tongue the glory Ah ! forgive that only art

To boast, though my unfaithful eyes Love has left your love to gain.

Betray a tender story. You, that could my heart subdue,

To new conquests ne'er pretend : Let th' example make me true,

A LETTER And of a conquer'd foe a friend.

FROM ARTEM ISA IN THE TOWN, TO CHLOE IN THE Then, if e'er I should complain

Of your empire, or my chain, Summon all the powerful charms,

Chloe, by your command in verse I write ;
And kill the rebel in your arms.

Shortly you'll bid me ride astride and fight :
Such talents better with our sex agree,
Than lofty flights of dangerous poetry.
Among the men, I mean the men of wit,

(At least they pass'd for such before they writ) CONSTANCY.

How many bold adventurers for the bays,
Proudly designing large returns of praise,

Who durst that stormy pathless world explore, I CANyot change, as others do,

Were soon dash'd back, and wreck'd on the dull Though you unjustly scorn;

shore, Since that poor swain that sighs for you,

Broke of that little stock they had before! For you alone was born.

How would a woman's tottering bark be tost, No, Phillis, no, your heart to move

Where stoutest ships (the men of wit) are lost! A surer way I'll try ;

When I reflect on this, I straight grow wise, And, to revenge my slighted love,

And my own self I gravely thus advise: Will still love on, will still love on, and die.

“ Dear Artemisa ! poetry 's a snare;

Bedlam has many mansions, have a care; When, kill'd with grief, Amyntas lies,

Your Muse diverts you, makes the reader sad; And you to mind shall call

You think yourself inspir'd, he thinks you mad. The sighs that now unpity'd rise,

Consider too, 't will be discreetly done, The tears that vainly fall;

To make yourself the fiddle of the town. That welcome hour, that ends this smart,

To find th’ ill-humour'd pleasnre at their need: Will then begin your pain ;

Curs d when you fail, and scorn 'd when you succeed." For such a faithful tender beart

Thus, like an arrant woman as I am,
Can never break, can never break in vain.

No sooner well convinc'd writing 's a shame,
That whore is scarce a more reproachful name
Than poetess
Like men that marry, or like maids that woo,

Because 'tis th’ very worst thing they can do,
A SONG.

Pleas'd with the contradiction and the sin, My dear mistress has a heart

Methinks I stand on thorns till I begin. Soft as those kind looks she gave me,

Y' expect to hear, at least, what love has past

In this lewd town, since you and I saw last;
When, with Love's resistless art,
And her eyes, she did enslave me.

What change has happen'd of intrigues, and whether

The old ones last, and who and who's together. But her constancy's so weak,

But how, my dearest Chloe, should I set
She 's so wild and apt to wander,

My pen to write what I would fain forget!
That my jealous heart would break,
Should we live one day asunder.

Or name that lost thing Love, without a tear,

Since so debauch'd by ill-bred customs here? Melting joys about her move,

Love, the most generous passion of the mind, Killing pleasures, wounding blisses :

The softest refuge innocence can find; She can dress her eyes in love,

The safe director of unguided youth, And her lips can warm with kisses.

Fraught with kind wishes, and secur'd by Truth; Angels listen when she speaks,

That cordial-drop Heaven in our cup has thrown, She's my delight, all mankind's wonder; To make the nauseous draught of life go down; But my jealous heart would break,

On which one only blessing God might raise,
Should we live one day asunder.

In lands of atheists, subsidies of praise:
For none did e'er so dull and stupid prove,
But felt a God, and bless'd his power, in love:
This only joy, for which poor we are made,

Is grown, like play, to be an arrant trade:
A SONG,

The rooks creep in, and it has got of late
IN IMITATION OF SIR JOHN EATON,

As many little cheats and tricks as that;

But, what yet more a woman's heart would vex, Too late, alas ! I must confess,

'Tis chiefly carry'd on by our own sex; You need not arts to move me;

Our silly sex, who born, like monarchs, free, Such charms by nature you possess,

Turn gipsies for a meaner liberty, Twere madness not to love ye.

And hate restraint, though but from infamy :

That call whatever is not common nice,

Vain of his proper merit, he with ease And, deaf to Nature's rule, or Love's advice, Believes we love him best, who best cap please; Forsake the pleasure, to pursue the vice.

On him our gross, dull, common flatteries pass, To an exact perfection they have brought

Ever most happy when most made an ass; The action love, the passion is forgot.

Heavy to apprehend, though all mankind 'Tis below wit, they tell you, to admire,

Perceive us false, the fop bimself is blind; And e'ven without approving they desire:

Who, doating on himself ---Their private wish obeys the public voice,

Thinks every one that sees him of his mind. Twixt good and bad whimsy decides, not choice: These are true womens' men”-Here, forcd to cease Fashions grow up for taste, at forms they strike, Through want of breath, not will, to hold her They know what they would have, not what they peace, like.

She to the window runs, where she had spy'd Bovy 's a beauty, if some few agree

Her much-esteem'd dear friend, the monkey, tyd; To call him so, the rest to that degree

With forty smiles, as many antic bows, Affected are, that with their ears they see.

As if 't had been the lady of the house, Where I was visiting the other night,

The dirty chattering monster she embrac'd, Comes a fine lady, with her humble knight, And made it this fine tender speech at last: Who had prevail'd with her, through her own skill, “ Kiss me, thou curious miniature of man; At his request, though much against his will, Ilow odd thou art, how pretty, how japan! 'To come to London

Oh! I could live and die with thee!"-then on, As the coach stopt, I heard her voice, more loud For half an hour, in compliments she ran: Than a great-belly'd woman's in a crowd;

I took this time to think what Nature meant, Telling the knight, that her affairs require

When this mixt thing into the world she sent, He, for some hours, obsequiously retire.

So very wise, yet so impertinent: I think she was asham'd he should be seen: One that knows every thing that God thought fit Hard fate of husbands! the gallant had been, Should be an ass through choice, not want of wit; Though a diseas'd, ill-favour'd fool, brought in. Whose foppery, without the help of sense, “ Dispatch,” says she, “ the business you pretend, Could ne'er have rose to such an excellence: Your beastly visit to your drunken friend,

Nature 's as lame in making a true fop
A bottle ever makes you look so fine ;

As a philosopher; the very top
Methioks I long to smell you stink of wine. And dignity of folly we attain
Your country drinking breath 's enough to kill; By studious search and labour of the brain,
Sour ale corrected with a lemon-peel.

By observation, counsel, and deep thought:
Prythee, farewell; we'll meet again anon:” God never made a coxcomb worth a groat;
The necessary thing bows, and is gone.

We owe that name to industry and arts : She flies up stairs, and all the haste does show An eminent fool must be a fool of parts, That fifty antic postures will allow;

And such a one was she, who had turn'd v'er And then bursts out-" Dear madam, am not I As many books as men, lov'd much, read more, The strangest, alter'd, creature? let me die, Had a discerning wit; to her was known I find myself ridiculously grown,

Every one's fault, or merit, but her own. Embarrast with my being out of town:

All the good qualities that ever blest Rade and untaught, like any Indian queen, A woman so distinguish'd from the rest, My country nakedness is plainly seen.

Except discretion only, she possest, How is Love governd ? Love, that rules the state; But now, “ Mon cher, dear Pug," she cries, "adien;" Aud pray who are the men most worn of late? And the discourse broke off does thus renew: When I was marry'd, fools were à-la-mode,

“ You smile to see me, who the world perchance The men of wit were then held incommode: Mistakes to have some wit, so far advance Slow of belief, and fickle in desire,

The interest of fools, that I approve
Who, ere they 'll be persuaded, must inquire, Their merit more than men of wit in love;
As if they came to spy, and not t’ admire:

But in our sex too many proofs there are
With searching wisdom, fatal to their ease,

Of such whom wits undo, and fools repair. They still find out why what may should not This, in my time, was so observ'd a rule, please ;

Hardly a wench in town but had her fool;
Nay, take themselves for injur'd, when we dare The meanest common slut, who long was grown
Make them think better of us than we are;

The jest and scorn of every pit buffoon,
And if we hide our frailties froin their sights, Had yet left charms enough to have subdued
Call us deceitful jilts and hypocrites;

Some fop or other, fond to be thought lewd.
They little guess, who at our arts are griev'd, Foster could make an Irish lord a Nokes,
The perfect jos of being well deceiv'd;

And Betty Morris had her city Cokes.
Inquisitive as jealous cuckolds grow;

A woman 's ne'er so ruin'd, but she can
Rather than not be knowing, they will know Be still reveng'd on her undoer, man:
What, being known, creates their certain woe. How lost soe'er, she 'll find some lover more
Women should these, of all mankind, avoid, A lewd abandon'd fool than she a whore.
For wonder, by clear knowledge, is destroy'd. That wretched thing Corinna, who has run
Woman, who is an arrant bird of night,

Through all the several ways of being undone : Bold in the dusk, before a fool's dull sight

Cozen’d at first by Love, and living then Must fly, when Reason brings the glaring light. By turning the too dear-bought cheat on men: But the kind easy fool, apt to admire

Gay were the hours, and wing'd with joy they Himself, trusts us; his follies all conspire

fiew, To flatter bis, and favoar our desire:

When first the town her early beauties knew;

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