Were all the curtains drawn, you'd find
Scarce one, perhaps, but who is kind.

Minerva, naked from above
With Venus, and the wife of Jove,
Expofing every beauty bare,
Defcended to the Trojan heir;

Yet this was the whom poets name
Goddess of Charity and Fame.
Penelope, her lord away,

Gave amorous audiences all the day;
Now round the bowl the fuitors fit,
With wine provoking mirth and wit:
Then down they take the stubborn bow;
Their ftrength, it feems, fhe needs must know :

Thus twenty cheerful winters past,

She's yet immortaliz'd for chafte.

Smile, Myra, then; reward my flame,
And be as much fecure of fame :
By all thofe matchlefs beauties fir'd,
By my own matchless love inspir'd,
So will I fing, fuch wonders write,
That, when th' aftonifh'd world fhall cite
A nymph of fpotlefs worth and fame,
Myra fhall be th' immortal name,

THE DISCOVERY.

ΤΟ THE COUNTESS

OF N

WITH Myra's charms, and my extreme defpair,

Long has my Mufe amaz'd the reader's ear, My friends with pity heard the mournful found, And all enquir'd who gave the fatal wound; Th' aftonifh'd world beheld an endless flame, Ne'er to be quench'd, and knew not whence it came: So fcatter'd fire from burning Ætna flies, Yet none can tell from whence thofe flames arife.

My timorous tongue, ftill trembling to confess,
Fearful to name, would fain have had her guefs;
Slight paffions with great eafe we can unfold,
Were my love less, my tongue had been more bold;
But who can live, and endless torments feel?
Compell'd by racks, the most refolv'd reveal
Those fecrets, that their prudence would conceal.
My weeping Mufe, oppreft with hopelcfs vows,
Flies to her feet, and thus for mercy bows.

Survey your felf, and then forgive your flave,
Think what a paffion fuch a form must have;
Who can, unmov'd, behold that heavenly face,
Thofe radiant eyes, and that refiftlefs grace?
My vows to Myra all were meant to thee,
The praife, the love, the matchlefs conftancy.
'Twas thus of old, when all th' immortal dames
Were grac'd by poets, each with several names;

}

For

For Venus, Cytherea was invok'd,

Altars for Pallas, to Athena fmok'd:

Such names were theirs; and thou the most divine, Moft lov'd of heavenly beuties, Myra 's thine.

MYRA AT A

REVIE W.

L

ET meaner beauties conquer fingly ftill,

But haughty Myra will by thousands kill,
Through armed ranks triumphantly she drives,

And with one glance commands ten thousand lives:
The trembling heroes nor refitt nor fly,
But at the head of all their fquadrons die,

TO MYR A.
TOM

1.

O calm and fo ferene but now,

What means this change on Myra's brow?

Her aguifh love now glows and burns,

Then chills and thakes, and the cold fit returns.

II.

Mock'd with deluding locks and finiles,

When on her pity I depend,

My aery hope the foon beguiles,

And laughs, to fee my torments never end.

III.

So up the steepy hill with pain

The weighty ftone is roll'd in vain,

Which having touch'd the top, recoils,

And leaves the labourer to renew his toils.

TO MYR A.

то

Thoughtful nights, and restless waking,

O the pains that we endure !

Broken faith, unkind forfaking,

Ever doubting, never fure.
Hopes deceiving, vain endeavours,
What a race has love to run!
Falfe protefting, fleeting favours,
Every, every way undone.
Still complaining, and defending,
Both to love, yet not agree,
Fears tormenting, paffion rending,
O the pangs of jealousy!

From fuch painful ways of living,
Ah how fweet, could love be free!
Still prefenting, still receiving,
Fierce immortal ecstasy.

TO

M Y R A.

SON

PRepar'd to rail, refolv'd to part,

G.

When I approach the perjur'd maid,

What is it awes my timorous heart?

Why is my tongue afraid ?

With the leaft glance a little kind,

Such wondrous power have Myra's charms,
She calms my doubts, enflaves my mind,
And all my rage difarms.
Forgetful of her broken vows,

When gazing on that form divine,
Her injur'd vaffal trembling bows,
Nor dares her flave repine.

TO

M YRA.

THE

ENCHANTMENT.

In Imitation of the PHARMACEUTRIA OF THEOCRITUS.

MIX, she

IX, mix the philtres---Quick---fhe flies, the flies,

Deaf to my call, regardless of my cries.

Are vows fo vain? Could oaths fo feeble prove?
Ah with what eafe fhe breaks thofe chains of love!
Whom Love with all his arts had bound in vain,
Let charms compel, and magic rites regain.
Begin, begin, the myftic fpells prepare ;
Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer.
Queen of the night, bright emprefs of the ftars,
The friend of love, affift a lover's cares :
And thou, infernal Hecate, be nigh,

At whofe approach fierce wolves affrighted fly,
Dark tombs difclofe their dead, and hollow cries
Echo from under ground; Arife, arise.

Begin, begin, the mystic spells prepare ;
Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer.

As