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Expect those statues, as you pass, should burn ;
And that with wonder men should statues turn ;
Such beauty is enough to give things life,
But not to make a husband love his wife :
A husband, worse than statues, or than trees ;
Colder than those, lefs fenfible than these.
Then from so dull a care your thoughts remove,
And waste not sighs you only owe to love.
'Tis pity, sighs from such a breast should part,
Unless to ease fome doubtful lover's heart;
Who dies because he must too justly prize
What yet the dull possessor does despise.
Thus precious jewels among Indians grow,
Who nor their use, 'nor wondrous value know;
But we for those bright treasures tempt the main,
And hazard life for what the fools disdain.



Airest, if time and absence can incline

Your heart to wandering thoughts no more than mine;
Then shall my hand, as changeless as my mind,
From your glad eyes a kindly welcome find;
Then, while this notes my constancy assures,
You 'll be almost as pleas’d, as I with yours.
And trust me, when I feel that kind relief,
Absence itself awhile suspends its grief :
So may it do with you, but strait return;
For it were cruel not sometimes to mourn

His fate, who this long time he keeps away,
Mourns all the night, and fighs out all the day;
Grieving yet more, when he reflects that you
Must not be happy, or must not be true.
But since to me it seems a blacker fate
To be inconstant, than unfortunate;
Remember all those vows between us paft,
When I from all I value parted last ;
May you alike with kind impatience bum,
And something miss, till I with joy return;
And soon may pitying heaven that blessing give,
As in the hopes of that alone I live.



RAVE fops my envy now beget,

Who did my pity move ; They, by the right of wanting wit,

Are free from cares of love.

Turks honour fools, because they are

By that defect secure
From slavery and toils of war,

Which all the rest endure.

So I, who suffer cold neglect

And wounds from Celia's eyes, Begin extremely to respect

These fools that seem so wise.


"Tis true, they fondly set their hearts

On things of no delight;
To pass all day for men of parts,

They pass alone the night.
But Celia never breaks their rest;

Such servants she disdains; And so the fops are dully blest,

While I endure her chains.




E AD Y to throw me at the foot

Of thar fair nymph whom I adore, Impatient those delights to meet

Which I enjoy'd the night before ; By her wonted scornful brow,

Soon the fond mistake I find ; Ixion mourn'd his error so,

When Juno's form the cloud resign'd. Sleep, to make its charms more priz'd

Than waking joys, which most prevail, Had cunningly itself disguis'd

In a shape that could not fail, There my Celia's snowy arms,

Breasts, and other parts more dear, Exposing new and unknown charms,

To my transported foul appear.

Then Then you so much kindness show,

My despair deluded Aies ; And indulgent dreams bestow

What your cruelty denies. Blush not that your image Love

Naked to my fancy brought ; 'Tis hard, methinks, to disapprove

The joys I feel without your fault. Wonder not a fancy'd bliss

Can such griefs as mine remove ; That honour as fantastic is,

Which makes you flight such constant love. The virtue which you value so,

Is but a fancy frail and vain; Nothing is folid here below, Except my love and



To One who accused him of being too sensual in

his Love.

HINK not, my fair, 'tis fin or shame,

To bless the man who so adores;
Nor give so hard, unjust a name,

To all those favours he implores.
Beauty is heaven's most bounteous gift esteem'd,
Because by love men are from vice redeem'd.


Yet wish not vainly for a love

From all the force of nature clear:
That is reserv'd for those above,

And ’ris a fault to claim it here.
For sensual joys ye fcorn that we should love ye,
But love without them is as much above ye.

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OVERS, who waste your thoughts and youth

In passion's fond extremes,
Who dream of women's love and truth,

And doat upon your dreams :
I should not here your fancy take

From such a pleasing state,
Were you not sure at last to wake,

And find your fault too late.
Then learn betimes, the love which crowns

Our cares is all but wiles,
Compos'd of false fantastic frowns,

And soft dissembling smiles.
With anger, which sometimes they feign,

They cruel tyrants prove;
And then turn flatterers again,

With as affected love.

As if some injury was meant.

To those they kindly us’d, Those lovers are the most content

That have been still resus'd.


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