At Home no Fear his Peace of Mind molefts; When in the Woods the Nymph delights to rove, Matilda walks the Dian of the Grove; Among the Youths, who dar'd to vow their A poor, but gallant, Prince, Carvilior, came; Of all the Suitors who the Fair addrefs'd, None found a Paffage to her virtuous Breast, But But Prince Carvilior. Firft her Eyes approve, Forc'd from her Heart at last to call it Love. They love, the Cause the fame, they both adore ; Much do their Perfons charm, their Virtues more. Long had they both with mutual Anguish burn'd, And, unmolested, Sigh for Sigh return'd. In Love we fancy all a Summer Day! When most secure of all our Wish we ftand, Oft' are we caft upon a barren Land ; For cruel Fortune will a Moment find, A Moment to the Lover's Hopes unkind. Cingetorix had now their Paffion feen, He fcan'd Carvilior's Form, his Air, his Mien; Much did he strive to count his Virtues o'er, He found them many; but he found him poor. It is refolv'd. In vain our Virtues plead, And weak their Succour in the Time of Need. Th' obdurate Sire forbids his longer Stay, The Lover drives, without a Look, away. Soon as he hears the rigid Father's Mind, The Prince obeys, and leaves his Soul behind. Banifh'd Banish'd the Court, and forc'd from all he loves, A fudden Shade he seeks, the lonely Groves. To the bleak Plains, wild as his Thoughts, he flies, And begs the King may fee with younger Eyes. He fhuns all Converfe for the filent Bow'rs; And wears away with Grief the lazy Hours. Now on the Margin of a murm'ring Stream He fits all Day, and makes the Nymph his Theme. Of Health regardless, on the Turf he lies, Loft to all Joy, till Sleep has clos'd his Eyes: On Beds of Rofes now he feems to rest, There reigns, Matilda, Monarch of thy Breast; All his pafs'd Scenes of Blifs his Dreams reftore ; O! kind Delufion! he's a Wretch no more. The Phantom flies, and leaves him to his Pain; He wakes, alas! and is a Wretch again. While thus the Prince his Lofs, Matilda, bears, Counting the Moments each an Age of Cares, As As when the Sun bears from our Eyes the Light, And for a-while leaves half the World in Night, No more the Rofe in purple Pride is feen, The painted Tulip, nor the Willow green; So to the Fair all worldly Charms are dead, Her Sun, that gave the Day, Carvilior's fled. His wifh'd for Abfence frees from their Defpair, The Croud of Lovers that addrefs the Fair! All hope Advantage from Carvilior's Pain, And all their Vows renew, and all in vain. With mighty Dow'rs fome strive her Soul to move; And Crowns are laid to be the Snares of Love. Nor mighty Dow'rs, nor Crowns, can change the Dame, True to her Virtue, and her firft-born Flame. At a fmall Distance from the Palace stood, For sweet Retirement, a convenient Wood; There would the Princefs, with her Maid, re move, To fhun the Concourfe of detefted Love. And now the Damfels crop the woodland Flow'rs, Now tell her tender Tales in fragrant Bow'rs; Now fecret to the inmoft Shade they go, Where a cool riv'let's filver Currents flow; In which divefted of the Veil of Dress, Whene'er fhe blaz'd in modeft Nakedness, The The Sun enamour'd, as Traditions say, Would, gazing on her Charms, prolong the Day. Hither two Lords, who long, too long, had borne Thy Frowns, Matilda, and of Love the Scorn, As void of Fear the Nymphs were bathing, came, And blefs'd the Hour that should revenge their Shame. Once jealous Rivals, now with Vengeance fir'd, They league against the Virtues they admir'd. To execute in Haste the black Design. Quick on the River's Bank each Monster ftands, Fire in their Looks, their Poniards in their Hands; No |