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I durft have sworn I lov'd before,
And fancy'd all the danger o'er ;
Had felt the pangs of jealous pain,
And borne the blasts of cold disdain ;
Then reap'd at length the mighty gains,
That full reward of all our pains !

But what was all such grief or joy,
That did my heedless ears employ?
Mere dreams of feign'd fantastic powers,
But the disease of idle hours ;
Amusement, humour, affectation,
Compar'd with this sublimer passion,
Whose raptures, bright as those above,
Outshine the flames of zcal or love.

Yet think not, fairest, what I fing, Can from a love platonic spring ; That formal softness (false and vain) Not of the heart, but of the brain, Thou art indeed above all nature; But I, a wretched human creature, Wanting thy gentle generous aid, Of husband, rivals, friends afraid ! Amidst all this seraphic fire, Am alınost dying with desire, With eager withes, ardent thoughts, Prone to commit love's wildest faults ! And (as we are on Sundays told The lusty patriarch did of old) Would force a blessing from those charms, And grasp an angel in my arms.

A A

DIALOGUE,

SUNG ON THE STAGE,

BETWEEN AN ELDERLY SHEPHERD, AND

A VERY YOUNG NYMPH.

SHEPHERD.

BRIGHT and blooming as the spring,

; All our fwains thy praises fing,

Ever gazing and admiring.

NYMPH.

Praises in so high a strain,

And by such a shepherd sung, Are enough to make me vain, Yet so harmless and so young.

SHEPHERD.
I should have despair'd among

Rivals that appear fo gayly:
But your eyes have made me young,
By their smiling on me daily.

Ν Υ Μ Ρ Η,
Idle boys admire us blindly,

Are inconstant, wild, and bold; And your using me so kindly

Is a proof you are not old.

SHEP

SHEPHERD.

With thy pleasing voice and fashion,

With thy humour and thy youth, Chear my soul, and crown my passion : Oh! reward my love and truth.

Ν Υ Μ Ρ Η. With thy careful arts to cover

That which fools will count a fault, Truest friend as well as lover,

Oh! deserve so kind a thought. EACH APART FIRST, AND THEN BOTH TOGETHER. Happy we shall lie possessing,

Folded in each other's arms. Love and Nature's chiefest blessing

In the still increasing charms. So the dearest joys of loving,

Which scarce heaven can go beyond, We'll be every day improving,

SHEPHERD, You more fair, and I'more fond.

N Y M P H. I more fair, and you more fond.

On One who died discovering her Kindness,

SUM

O ME vex their souls with jealous pain,

While others sigh for cold disdain :
Love's various slaves we daily fee !
Yet happy all, compar'd with me.

Of

Of all mankind, I lov'd the best
A nymph so far above the rest,
That we outshin’d the bleft above,
In beauty she, and I in love.
And therefore they who could not bear
To be outdone by mortals here,
Among themselves have plac'd her now,
And left me wretched here below,
All other fate I could have borne,
And ev'n endur'd her

very

scorn; But oh ! thus all at once to find That dread account! both dead and kind ! What heart can hold ! if yet I live, 'Tis but to shew how much I grieve.

ON LUCINDA'S DEATH.

, ,

The pangs

That ever haunted guilty mind!

of love when it despairs,
And all those stings the jealous find :
Alas! heart-breaking though ye be,
Yet welcome, welcome all to me!
Who now have loft--- but oh! how much?

No language, nothing can express,
Except my grief! for she was such,

That praises would but make her less.
Yet who can ever dare to raise
His voice on her, unless to praise ?

Free

Free from her sex's smallest faults,

And fair as womankind can be : Tender and warm as lover's thoughts,

Yet cold to all the world but me. Of all this nothing now remains, But only fighs and endless pains !

TO A

LADY RETIRING INTO A MONASTERY,

WHAT breast but yours can hold the double fire

Of fierce devotion, and of fond defie?
Love would line forth, were not your zeal fo bright
Whofe glaring flames eclipfe his gentler light :
Less seems the faith that mountains can remove,
Than this which triumphs over youth and love.

But shall fome threatening priest divide us two?
What worse than that could all his curses do ?
Thus with a fright fome have resign'd their breath,
And poorly dy'd, only for fear of death.

Heaven sees our passions with indulgence Pille
And they who lov'd well, can do nothing ilt.
While to us nothing but ourselves is dear,
Should the world frown, yet what have we to fear?
Fame, wealth, and power, those high-priz'd gifts of fate,
The low concerns of a less happy state,
Are far beneath us : fortune's self may take
Her aim at us, yet no impression make ;

E

Let

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