Page images

My passion, from all change secure,

No favours raise, no frown controuls; I any torment can endure

But hoping with a crowd of fools.


Love still has something of the sea
From whence his mother rose ;
No time his slaves from doubt can free,
Nor give their thoughts repose.

They are becalm'd in clearest days,
And in rough weather tost;
They wither under cold delays,
Or are in tempests lost.

One while they seem to touch the port,

Then straight into the main

Some angry wind, in cruel sport,

The vessel drives again.


At first, disdain and pride they fear;
Which if they chance to 'scape,
Rivals and falsehood soon appear
In a more dreadful shape.

By such degrees to joy they come,
And are so long withstood,
So slowly they receive the sum,
It hardly does them good.

'T is cruel to prolong a pain;
And to defer a joy,
Believe me, gentle CELIMENE,
Offends the winged boy.

A hundred thousand oaths your
Perhaps would not remove;

And if I gazed a thousand years

I could no deeper love.



DORINDA's sparkling wit and eyes

Uniting cast too fierce a light,
Which blazes high, but quickly dies,
Pains not the heart, but hurts the sight.

Love is a calmer, gentle joy,

Smooth are his looks, and soft his pace: Her Cupid is a black-guard boy,

That runs his link full in your face.

YES, FULVIA is like VENUS fair,
Has all her bloom and shape and air;
But still, to perfect every grace,
She wants the smile upon her face.

The crown majestic Juno wore,
And CYNTHIA's brow the crescent bore,
A helmet mark'd MINERVA's mien ;
But smiles distinguish'd beauty's queen.

Her train was form'd of smiles and loves,
Her chariot drawn by gentlest doves,
And from her zone the nymph may find
'Tis beauty's province to be kind.

Then smile, my fair; and all whose aim
Aspires to paint the Cyprian dame,
Or bid her breathe in living stone,
Shall take their forms from you alone.


EASE me no more, nor think I care
Tho' monarchs bow at KITTY's shrine,
Or powder'd coxcombs woo the fair,
Since KITTY is no longer mine.

Indifferent 't is alike to me,

If my favourite dove be stole, Whether its dainty feathers be Pluckt by the eagle or the owl.

If not for me its blushing lips
The rose-bud opens, what care I
Who the odorous liquid sips,

The king of bees, or butterfly?

Like me, the Indians of Peru,
Rich in mines of golden ore,
Dejected see the merchant's crew
Transport it to a foreign shore.

Seeks the slave despoil'd to know
Whether his gold, in shape of lace,
Shine on the coat of birth-day beau,

Or wear the stamp of George's face?***


', ૨

[ocr errors]

TELL thee, CHARMION, could I time retrieve,
And could again begin to love and live,

To you I should my earliest offering give;
I know my eyes would lead my heart to you,
And I should all my oaths and vows renew:
But, to be plain, I never would be true.

For by our weak and weary truth, I find,
Love hates to centre in a point assign'd,
But runs with joy the circle of the mind:
Then let us never chain what should be free,
But for relief of either sex agree;

Since women love to change, and so do we.


CORINNA in the bloom of youth
Was coy to every lover;
Regardless of the tenderest truth,

No soft complaint could move her.


« PreviousContinue »