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And thou, bold man, who think'st to rival me,

For thy presumption I could pardon thee;
I could forgive thy lying in her arms,

I could forgive thy rifing all her charms:
What has this bugbear, Death, that's worth our But, oh! I never can forgive the tongue
After a life in pain and sorrow past,


That boasts her favours, and proclaims my wrong.
After deluding hope and dire despair,
Death only gives us quiet at the last.

How strangely are our love and hate misplac'd!
Freedom we seek, and yet from freedom flee;

What fury does disturb my rest?
Courting those tyrant-sins that chain us fast,

What Hell is this within my breast? And shunning Death, that only sets us free.

Now I abhor, and now I love; 'Tis not a foolish fear of future pains, [stains ?)

And each an equal torment prove. (Why should they fear who keep their souls from I see Celinda's cruelty, That makes me dread thy terrours, Death, to see:

I see she loves all men but me; 'Tis not the loss of riches, or of fame,

I see her falsehood, see her pride, Or the vain toys, the vulgar pleasures name;

I see ten thousand faults beside; 'Tis nothing, Cælia, but the losing thee.

I see she sticks at nought that 's ill;
Yet, oh ye powers! I love her still.
Others on precipices run,
Which, blind with love, they cannot shun :-

I see my danger, see my ruin ;

Yet seek, yet court, my own undoing:
And each new reason I explore

To hate her, makes me love her more.
Celia, your tricks will now no longer pass,
And I'm no more the fool that once I was.
I know my happier rival does obtain
All the vast bliss for which I sigh in vain.
Him, him you love, to me you use your art;

I had your looks, another had your heart:

When I see the bright nymph who my heart does To me you 're sick, to me of spies afraid;

enijra!, He finds your sickness gone, your spies betray'd:

When I view her soft eyes, and her languishing I sigh beneath your window all the night;

Her merit so great, my own merit so small, (air, He in your arms possesses the delight.

It makes me adore, and it makes me despair. I know you treat me thus, false fair, I do; And, oh! what plagues me worse, he knows it too; But when I consider, she squanders on fools To him my sighs are told, my letters shown,

All those treasures of beauty with which she is And all my pains are his diversion grown.

My fancy it damps, my passion it cools, (stor'd; Yet, since you could such horrid treasons act, And it makes me despise what before I ador'd. I'm pleas'd you chose out him to do the fact : His vanity does for my wrongs atone,

Thus sometimes I despair, and sometimes I despise: And 'tis by that I have your falsehood known. I love, and I hate, but I never esteem: What shall I do? for treated at this rate,

The passion grows up when I view her bright eyes, I must not love, and yet I cannot hate:

Which my rivals destroy when I look upon them! I hate the actions, but I love the face: Oh, were thy virtue more, or beauty less !

How wisely does Nature things so different unite? I'm all confusion, and my soul 's on fire,

In such odd compositions our safety is found; Torn by contending Reason and Desire;

As the blood of a scorpion 's a cure for the bite, This bids me love, that bids me love give o'er,

So her folly makes whole whom her beauty does One counsels best, the other pleases more.

I know I onght to hate you for your fault,
But, oh! I cannot do the thing I ought.
Canst thou, mean wretch! canst thou contented prove
With the cold relics of a rival's love?

Why did I see that face to charm my breast ?

CÆlia, too late you would repent;
Or, having seen, why did I know the rest ?
Gods! if I have obey'd your just commands,

The offering all your store,
If I've deserv'd some favour of your hands;

Is now but like a pardon sent Make me that tame, that easy fool again,

To one that 's dead before. And rid me of my knowledge and my pain:

While at the first you cruel prov'd, And you, false fair! for whom so oft I've griev'd,

And grant the bliss too late; Pity a wretch that begs to be deceiv'd;

You hinder'd me of one I lov'd,
Forswear yourself for one who dies for you,

To give me one I hate.
Vow, not a word of the whole charge was true;
But scandals all, and forgeries, devis'd

I thought you innocent as fair,
By a vain wretch neglected and despis'd.

When first my court I made; I too will help to forward the deceit,

But when your falsehoods plain appear, And, to my power, contribute to the cheat.

My love no longer stay'd.

Your bounty of those favours shown,

Whose worth you first deface, Is melting valued unedals down,

And giving us the brass. Oh, since the thing we beg 's a toy

That 's priz'd by love alone, Why cannot women grant the joy,

Before our love is gone?

But, oh! they see not with their own, All things to them are through false optics shown. Love at the first does all your charms increase, When the tube 's turn'd, hate represents them less.


Whate'er may come, I will not grieve

For dangers that I can't believe. She 'll ne'er cease loving me; or if she do, 'Tis ten to one I cease to love her too.



THE RECONCILEMENT. Be gone, ye sighs! be gone, ye tears! Be gone, ye jealousies and fears! Celinda swears she never lov'd, Celinda swears none ever mov'd Her heart, but I; if this be true, Shall I keep company with you? What though a senseless rival swore She said as much to him before? What though I saw him in her bed ? I'll trust not what I saw, but what she said. Curse on the prudent and the wise, Who ne'er believe such pleasing lies : I grant she only does deceive; I grant 'tis folly to believe; But by this folly I vast pleasures gain, While you with all your wisdom live in pain.

“ Go," said old Lyce, “senseless lover, go,
And with soft verses court the fair; but know,
With all thy verses, thou canst get no more
Than fools without one verse have had before."
Enrag'd at this, upon the bawd I few,
And that which most enrag'd me was, 'twas true.



THE FAIR MOURNER. In what sad pomp the mournful charmer lies! Does she lament the victim of her eyes? Or would she hearts with soft compassion move, To make them take the deeper stamp of Love? What youth so wise, so wary to escape, When Rigour comes, drest up in Pity's shape? Let not in vain those precious tears be shed, Pity the dying fair-one, not the dead; While you unjustly of the Fates complain, I grieve as much for you, as much in vain. Each to relentless judges make their moan; Blame not Death's cruelty, but cease your own. While raging passion both our souls does wound, A sovereign balm might sure for both be found; Would you but wipe your fruitless tears away, And with a just compassion mine survey.

FRIEND. Value thyself, fond youth, no more On favours Mulus had before; He had her first, her virgin flame, You like a bold intruder came To the cold relics of a feast, When he at first had seiz'd the best.



When he, dull sot, had seiz'd the worse,
I came in at the second course;
'Tis chance that first makes people love,
Judgment their riper fancies move.
Mulus, you say, first charm'd her eyes ;
First, she lov'd babies and dirt-pies;
But she grew wiser, and in time
Found out the folly of those toys and him.

If wisdom change in love begets,
Women, no doubt, are wondrous wits.
But wisdom that now makes her change to you,
In time will make her change to others too.

Thou saidst that I alone thy heart could move,
And that for me thou wouldst abandon Jove.
I lov'd thee then, not with a love defild,
But as a father loves bis only child.
I know thee now, and though I fiercelier burn,
Thou art become the object of my scorn :
See what thy falsehood gets; I must confess
I love thee more, but I esteem thee less.

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Nor ought those things to be confin'd,

That were for public good design'd;

Could we in foolish pride,

Make the Sun always with us stay,
Is there a pious pleasure that proceeds

"Twould bum our corn and grass away, From contemplation of our virtuous deeds?

To starve the world beside.
That all mean sordid actions we despise,

Let not the thoughts of parting fright
And scorn to gain a throne by cheats and lies ?
Thyrsis, thou hast sure blessings laid in store,

Two souls, which passion does unite;
From thy just dealing in this curst amour :

For while our love does last, What honour can in words or deeds be shown,

Neither will strive to go away; Which to the fair thou hast not said and done?

And why the Devil should we stay,
On her false heart they all are thrown away;

When once that love is past ?
She only swears, more eas'ly to betray.
Ye powers ! that know the many vows she broke,
Free my just soul from this unequal yoke !

My love boils up, and, like a raging flood,
Runs through my veins, and taints my vital blood.
I do not vainly beg she may grow chaste,
Or with an equal passion burn at last ;
The one she cannot practise, though she would; Chloe, new-marry'd, looks on men no more;
And I contemn the other, though she should : Why then 'tis plain for what she look'd before.
Nor ask I vengeance on the perjur'd jilt ;
'Tis punishment enough to have her guilt.
I beg but balsam for my bleeding breast,
Cure for my wounds, and from my labours rest.

CORNUS proclaims aloud his wife 's a whore;
Alas, goud Cornus, what can we do more?

Wert thon no cuckold, we might make thee one;

But, being one, we cannot make thee none.
I know, Celinda, I have borne too long,
And, by forgiving, have increas'd my wrong:

Thraso picks quarrels when he's drunk at night; Yet if there be a power in verse to slack

When sober in the morning dares not fight. Thy course in vice, or bring fled Virtue back,

Thraso, to shun those ills that may ensue, I'll undertake the task, howe'er so hard ;

Drink not at night, or drink at morning too. A generous action is its own reward. Oh! were thy virtues equal to thy charms, I'd fly from crowns to live within those arms: But who, oh who, can e'er believe thee just, When such known falsehoods have destroy'd all trust? Rich Gripe does all his thoughts and cunning bend,

T' increase that wealth he wants the soul to spend. Farewell, false fair! nor shall I longer stay,

Poor Shifter does his whole contrivance set Since we must part, why should we thus delay?

To spend that wealth he wants the sense to get. Your love alone was what my soul could prize,

How happy would appear to each his fate,
And missing that, can all the rest despise ;
Yet should I not repent my follies past,

Had Gripe bis humour, or he Gripe's estate!

Kind Fate and fortune, blend them if you can, Could you take up and grow reserv'd at last,

And of two wretches make one happy man!
'Twould please me, parted from your fatal charms,
To see you happy in another's arms.
Whatever threatenings fury might extort,
Oh fear not I should ever do you hurt :
For though my former passion is remov'd,

I would not injure one I once had lov'd.

Adieu ! while thus I waste my time in vain,
Sure there are maids I might entirely gain:

Au, Cælia! where are now the charms
I'll search for such, and to the first that 's true, That did such wondrous passions move!
Resign the heart so hardly freed from you.

Time, cruel Time, those eyes disarms,

And blunts the feeble darts of Love.





What malice does the tyrant bear

To womens' interest, and to ours :
Beauties in which the public share,

The greedy villain first devours.

Yes, all the world must sure agree,
He who 's secur'd of having thee,

Will be entirely blest;
But 't were in me too great a wrong,
To make one who has been so long

My queen, my slave at last.

Who, without tears, can see a prince,

That trains of fawning courtiers had,
Abandon'd, left without Jefence ?

Nor is thy hapless fate less earl.

Thou who so many fools hast known,

In women how should sense and beauty meet. And all the fools would hardly do,

The wisest men their youth in follies spend; Shouldst now confine thyself to one !

The best is he that earliest finds the cheat, And he, alas! a husband too.

And sees his errours while there 's time to mene. See the ungrateful slaves, how fast

They from thy setting glories run; And in what mighty crowds they haste

THE DESPAIRING LOVER. To worship Flavia's rising sun!

DISTRACTED with care In vain are all the practis'd wiles,

For Phyllis the fair, In vain those eyes would love impart;

Since nothing could move her, Not all th' advances, all the smiles,

Poor Damon, her lover, Can move one unrelenting heart.

Resolves in despair

No longer to languish, While Flavia, charming Flavia, still

Nor bear so much anguish; By cruelty her cause maintains ;

But, mad with his love, And scarce vouchsafes a careless smile

To a precipice goes, To the poor slaves that wear her chains.

Where a leap froin above Well, Cælia, let them waste their tears;

Would soon finish his woes. But sure they will in time repine,

When in rage he came there, That thou hast not a face like hers,

Beholding how steep
Or she has not a heart like thine.

The sides did appear,
And the bottom how deep;
His torments projecting,

And sadly reflecting,

That a lover forsaken

A new love may get,
All hail, ye fields, where constant peace attends! But a neck when once broken
All hail, ye sacred solitary groves !

Can never be set;
All hail, ye books, my true, my real friends,

And, that he could die Whose conversation pleases and improves !

Whenever he would,

But, that he could live Could one who studied your sublimer rules

But as long as he could : Become so mad to search for joys abroad?

How grievous soever To run to towns, to herd with knaves and fools,

The torment might grow, And undistinguish'd pass among the crowd ?

He scorn'd to endeavour

To finish it so.
One to ambitious fancy 's made a prey,

But bold, unconcern'd
Thinks happiness in great preferment lies;
Nor fears for that his country to betray,

At thoughts of the pain,

He calmly return'd Curst by the fools, and laught at by the wise.

To his cottage again. Others, whom avaricious thoughts bewitch,

Consume their time to multiply their gains ; And, fancying wretched all that are not rich,

SONG, Neglect the end of life to get the means.

Of all the torments, all the cares, Others, the name of pleasure does invite,

With which our lives are curst; All their dull time in sensual joys they live;

Of all the plagues a lover bears, And hope to gain that solid firm delight

Sure rivals are the worst ! By vice, which innocence alone can give.

By partners, in each other kind,

Amictions easier grow; But how perplext, alas! is human fate!

In love alone we hate to find I, whom nor avarice nor pleasures move,

Companions of our woe. Who view with scorn the trophies of the great,

Sylvia, for all the pangs you see Yet must myself be made a slave to love.

Are labouring in my breast, If this dire passion never will be gone,

I beg not yon would favour me, If beauty always must my heart enthral,

Would you but slight the rest ! Oh! rather let me be confin'd to one,

How great soe'er your rigours are,

With them alone I'll cope; Than madly thus be made a prey to all!

I can endure my own despair,
One who has early known the pomps of state,

But not another's hope.
(For things unknown 'tis ignorance to condemn)
And after having view'd the gaudy bait,
Can boldly say, The trifle I contemn.

In her blest arms contented could I live,

Phyllis, we not grieve that Nature,
Contented could I die: but oh! my mind

Forming you, has done her part;
I feed with fancies, and my thoughts deceive And in every single feature
With hope of things impossible to find.

Show'd the utmost of her art.


PHYLLIS'S RESOLUTION...AN EPISTLE TO A LADY. 413 But in this it is pretended

No parting sorrows to extort your tears, That a mighty grievance lies,

No blustering husband to renew your fears ! That your heart should be defended,

Therefore, dear madam, let a friend advise, Whilst you wound us with your eyes. Love and its idle deity despise :

Suppress wild Nature, if it dares rebel; Love 's a senseless inclination,

There 's no such thing as “leading apes in Hell.” Where no mercy 's to be found; But is just, where kind compassion Gives us balm to heal the wound.

CLELIA TO URANIA. Persians, paying solemn duty,

To the rising Sun inclin'd, Never would adore his beauty,

The dismal regions which no Sun beholds, But in hopes to make him kind.

Whilst bis fires roll some distant world to cheer, Which in dry darkness, frost, and chilling cold,

Spend one long portion of the dragging year, PHYLLIS'S RESOLUTION.

At his returning influence never knew

More joy than Clelia, when she thinks of you. WN Hex slaves their liberty require,

Those zealots, who adore the rising Sun, They hope no more to gain,

Would soon their darling deity despise, But you not only that desire,

And with more warm, more true devotion run, But ask the power to reign.

To worship nobler beams, Urania's eyes; Think how unjust a suit you make,

Had they beheld her lovely form divine, Then you will soun decline;

Where rays more glorious, more attracting, shine. Your freedom, when you please, pray take, But, ah! frail mortals, though you may admire But trespass not on mine.

At a convenient distance all her charms,

Approach them, and you 'll feel a raging fire, No more in vain, Alcander, crave,

Which scorches deep, and all your power disarms: I ne'er will grant the thing,

Thus, like th’ Arabian bird, your care proceeds That he, who once has been my slave,

From the bright object which your pleasure breeds. Should ever be my king.



Thougy Celia's born to be ador'd,

And Strephon to adore her born,

In vain her pity is implor'd, Madam, I cannot but congratulate

Who kills him twice with charms and scorn. Your resolution for a single state ; Ladies, who would live undisturb'd and free,

Fair saint, to your blest orb repair, Must never put on Hymen's livery;

To learn in Heaven a heavenly mind; Perhaps its outside seems to promise fair,

Thence hearken to a sinner's prayer,
But underneath is nothing else but care.

And be less beauteous, or more kind.
If once you let the gordian knot be ty'd,
Which turns the name of virgin into bride,
That one fond act your life's best scene foregoes,
And leads you in a labyrinth of woes,

Whose strange meanders you may search about,
But never find the clue to let you out.

Thou tyrant god of Love, give o'er,
The married life affords you little ease,

And persecute this breast no more:
The best of husbands is so hard to please :

Ah! tell me why must every dart
This in wives' careful faces you may spell, Be aim'd at my unhappy heart?
Though they dissemble their misfortunes well. I never murmur'd or repin'd,
No plague 's so great as an ill-ruling head, But patiently myself resign'd
Yet 'tis a fate which few young ladies dread: To all the torments, which through thee
For Love's insinuating fire they fan,

Have fell, alas! on wretched me:
With sweet ideas of a godlike man.

But oh! I can no more sustain
Chloris and Phyllis glory'd in their swains,

This long-continued state of pain,
And sung their praises ou the neighbouring plains; Though 'tis but fruitless to complain.
Oh! they were brave, accomplish'd, charming men, My heart, first soften'd by thy power,
Angels till marry'd, but proud devils then.

Ne'er kept its liberty an hour :
Sure some resistless power with Cupid sides, So fond and easy was it grown,
Or we should have more virgins, fewer brides; Each nymph might call the fool her own):
For single lives afford the most content,

So much to its own interest blind,
Secure and happy, as they 're innocent:

So strangely charm'd to womankind,
Bright as Olympus, crown'd with endless ease, That it no more belong'd to me,
And calm as Neptune on the Halcyon seas: Than vestal-virgins hearts to thee.
Your sleep is broke with no domestic cares, I often courted it to stay;
No bawling children to disturb your prayers; But, deaf to all, 'twould fly away,

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