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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,
The hector dares not show his face.
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.
You'll find hers cannot be the same;
"Tis noble confidence in men,
In women mean mistrustful shame.
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,
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.
There the kind deity of wine
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.
Would seem a winter's day;
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;
It languishes and dies.
It mournfully does move;
The living tomb of love.
You wiser men despise me not;
Whose love-sick fancy raves,
Short ages live in graves.
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.
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.
And anxious cares, when past,
LOVE AND LIFE.
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.
To thy safe bosom I retire,
May I contented there expire !
I fall on some base heart unblest;
And lose my everlasting rest.
All my past life is mine no more,
The flying hours are gone :
By memory alone.
How can it then be mine?
Phillis, is only thine.
False hearts, and broken vows;
"Tis all that Heaven allows.
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;
How early e'er begun.
Whose stars contrive, in spite,
Her fading beauty's night.
You'll peevishly be roy,
And never know the joy.
hile on those lovely looks I gaze,
To see a wretch pursuing,
His pleasing happy ruin:
His fate is too aspiring,
Dies wishing and admiring.
Your slave from death remoring;
Or learn you mine of loving.
In love 'tis equal measure;
The vanquish'd die with pleasure.
What cruel pains Corinna takes,
To force that harmless frown;
Love cannot lose his own.
Her innocence cannot contrive to undo me,
Beneath a willow lay,
Kind Love a youthful shepherd brought,
To pass the time away.
But, as she strove to rise and go,
He pull'd her down again.
In spite of her disdain ;
She found a pulse in every part,
Ah, youth !” said she, “ what charms are these, At the thought of those joys I should meet in her
That conquer and surprise ?
I have no power to rise.”
She fainting spoke, and trembling lay,
For fear he should comply;
Her lovely eyes her heart betray,
And give her tongue the lie.
Thus she, who princes had deny'd,
With all their pomp and train, You, whom some kinder power did fashion,
Was in the lucky minute try'd,
And yielded to a swain.
Give me leave to rail at you,
I ask nothing but my dne;
To call you false, and then to say,
Ah! be kinder then; for I
Cannot change, and would not die.
Kindness has resistless charms,
All besides but weakly move,
Fiercest anger it disarms,
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,
And makes the slaves grow pleas'd again.
With war I've nought to do;
Nothing adds to your fond fire
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.
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 ;
Shortly you'll bid me ride astride and fight :
(At least they pass'd for such before they writ) CONSTANCY.
How many bold adventurers for the bays,
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,
No sooner well convinc'd writing 's a shame,
Because 'tis th’ very worst thing they can do,
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;
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
My pen to write what I would fain forget!
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,
In lands of atheists, subsidies of praise:
Is grown, like play, to be an arrant trade:
The rooks creep in, and it has got of late
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
As a philosopher; the very top
By observation, counsel, and deep thought:
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
But in our sex too many proofs there are
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;
The jest and scorn of every pit buffoon,
Some fop or other, fond to be thought lewd.
And Betty Morris had her city Cokes.
A woman 's ne'er so ruin'd, but she can
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;