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She ask'd, but with an air and mien,
That made it easily foreseen,
She fear'd too much to know.

The shepherd rais'd his mournful head;
And will you pardon me, he said, 20
While I the cruel truth reveal?
Which nothing from my breast should tear.;
Which never should offend your ear,
But that you bid me tell.

"Tis thus I rove, ’tis thus complain,
Since you appear'd upon the plain;
You are the cause of all my care:
Your eyes ten thousand dangers dart:
Ten thousand torments vex my heart:
I love, and I despair. 30

Too much, Alexis, I have heard:
'Tis what I thought; 'tis what I fear'd:
And yet I pardon you, she cried:
But you shall promise ne'er again
To breathe your vows, or speak your pain:
He bow'd, obey'd, and died.

TO

THE HONOURABLE CHARLES MONTAGUE.”

Şıx OWEER, 'tis well, that while mankind
* Through Fate's perverse meander
errs,
He can imagin'd pleasures find,
To combat against real cares.

Fancies and notions he pursues,
Which ne'er had being but in thought:

Each, like the Grecian artist,t woos
The image he himself has wrought.

Against experience he believes;
He argues against demonstration; 10

Pleas'd, when his reason he deceives;
And sets his judgment by his passion.

* Afterwards Earl of Halifax. “He raised himself.” says Mr. Walpole, “by his abilities and eloquence in the House of Commons, where he had the honour of being attacked, in conjunction with Lord Somers, and the satisfaction of establishing his innocence as clearly. Addison has celebrated this lord in his account of the greatest English poets: Steele has drawn his character in the dedication of the second volume of the Spectator, and the fourth of the Tatler; but Pope in the Portrait of Bufo in the Epistle to Arbuthnot has returned the ridicule, which his lordship, in conjunction with Prior, had heaped on Dryden's Hind and Panther.” He died 19th May, 1715.

+ Apelles.

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The hoary fool, who many days
Bas struggled with continued sorrow,

Renews his hope, and blindly lays
The desp'rate bet upon to-morrow.

To-morrow comes: 'tis noon, 'tis night;
This day like all the former flies:

Yet on he runs, to seek delight
To-morrow, till to-night he dies. 20

Our hopes, like tow'ring falcons, aim
At objects in an airy height:

The little pleasure of the game
Is from afar to view the flight.

Our anxious pains we, all the day,
In search of what we like, employ:

Scorning at night the worthless prey,
We find the labour gave the joy.

At distance through an artful glass
To the mind's eye things well appear: 30

They lose their forms, and make a mass
Confus'd and black, if brought too near.

If we see right, we see our woes:
Then what avails it to have eyes?

From ignorance our comfort flows.
The only wretched are the wise.

We wearied should lie down in death:
This cheat of life would take no more;

If you thought fame but empty breath;
I, Phillis, but a perjur’d whore. 40

WARIATIONS IN A COPY PRINTED 1692.

§UR hopes, like towering falcons, aim
At objects in an airy height;
| But all the pleasure of the game
Is afar off to view the flight.

The worthless prey but only shews
The joy consisted in the strife;

Whate'er we take, as soon we lose
In Homer's riddle and in life.

So, whilst in feverish sleeps we think
We taste what waking we desire, 10

The dream is better than the drink,
Which only feeds the sickly fire.

To the mind's eye things well appear,
At distance through an artful glass;

Bring but the flattering objects near,
They're all a senseless gloomy mass.

Seeing aright, we see our woes:
Then what avails it to have eyes?

From ignorance our comfort flows,
The only wretched are the wise. 20

We wearied should lie down in death,
This cheat of life would take no more ;

If you thought fame but stinking breath,
And Phyllis but a perjur’d whore.

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AND INTENDED TO BE SUNG BEFORE THEIR MAJESTIEs on NEw-YEAR’s DAY, 1694. WRITTEN AT THE HAGUE.

{IGHT of the world, and ruler of the year,

With happy speed begin thy great career;

And, as thou dost thy radiant journeys run,

Through every distant climate own, That in fair Albion thou hast seen The greatest prince, the brightest queen, That ever sav'd a land, or blest a throne,

Since first thy beams were spread, or genial power

was known.

So may thy godhead be confest,
So the returning year be blest, t)
As his infant months bestow
Springing wreaths for William's brow:
As his summer's youth shall shed
Eternal sweets around Maria's head:
From the blessings they bestow,
Our times are dated, and our eras move:
They govern and enlighten all below,
As thou dost all above.

Let our hero in the war
Active and fierce, like thee, appear: 20
Like thee, great son of Jove, like thee,
When clad in rising majesty,

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