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Since each has in his bosom nurst
A false and fawning foe, 'Tis just and wise, by striking first,
To 'scape the fatal blow.
TO A M O R E T T A.
HEN I held out against your eyes,
You took the furest course; A heart unwary to surprize,
You ne'er could take by force. However, though I strive no more,
The fort will no! be priz'd, Which, if surrender'd up before,
Perhaps had been despis'd. But, gentle Amoretta, though
I cannot love resist, Think
have caught me fo,
My foolish heart reclaim :
But you, alas ! with shame.
Will a dear conquest prove ;
At vast expence of love.
V E N T U R E.
OH, how I languish! What a strange
Unruly fierce desire !
My heart is all on fire.
Love's foppish part ; farewell. Suppose one week's delay would give All that
wishes move; Oh, who so long a time can live,
Stretch'd on the rack of love ? Her foul perhaps is too sublime,
To like such slavish fear; Discretion, prudence, all is crime,
If once condemn’d by her. When honour does the foldier call
To fome unequal fight, Resolv'd to conquer, or to fall,
Before his general's sight ;
Or if ill Fate denies,
And gloriously he dies.
To Gloriana's eyes ;
Must all the world despise.
Excite our dull desire;
'Those fainter flames expire.
What I did once adore ; o, do but this one change allow,
And I can change no more :
Till I with age decay,
I sigh my soul away.
From my wondering, wishing eyes !
Does fome ravilh'd heart surprize;
But oh, I fighing, sighing, see
Yet, if I could humbly show her,
Ah! how wretched I remain;
Still to pity so much pain.
Since your hand alone was given
To a wretch not worth your care;
Come, and raise mi from despair ;
DE S P A IR.
Incapable of reft,
That's not to be exprest.
veins No reason can remove; Of all the mind's most cruel pains,
I he tharpest, sure, is love.
Yet while I languish so,
And on thee vainly call; Take heed, fair cause of all my woe,
What fate may thee befall. Ungrateful, cruel faults
Suit not thy gentle sex; Hereafter, how will guilty thoughts
Thy tender conscience vex! When welcome Death shall bring
Relief to wretched me, My foul enlarg’d, and once on wing,
In haste will fly to thee. When in thy lonely bea
My ghost its moan shall make, With saddest signs that I am dead,
And dead for thy dear fake ;
Struck with that conscious blow,
Thy very soul will start :
And cold as is thy heart,
Untimely pity show
Did most thy value know.
Yet, with this broken heart,
I wish thou never be Tormented with the thousandth part Of what I feel for thee.