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The Arreft.

I.

Hither fo faft fond Paffion dost thou rove,
Licentious and unconfin'd?

Sure this is not the proper Sphere of Love,
Obey; and be not deaf, as thou art blind.
All is fo falfe and treacherous here,
That I must love with Caution, and enjoy with fear.

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Contract thy Sails, left a too gufty blast

Make thee from fhoar launch out too far; Weigh well this Ocean, e're thou make fuch hafte, It has a nature very fingular..

Men of the treacherous fhoar complain

In other Seas, but here most Danger's in the Main.
III..

Should't thou, my Soul, indulge thy forward Love,
And not controul its headlong course,
The Object in th' enjoyment vain will prove,
And thou on Nothing fall with all thy force.

So th' eager Hawk makes fure of's prize,
Strikes with full might, but over-fhoots himself and dyes.
IV.

Or fhould'st thou with long fearch on fomething light That might content and stay thy Mind,

All good's here wing'd, and ftands prepar'd for flight, "Twill leave thee reaching out in vain, behind.

Then when unconftant Fate thou it proved, Thou'lt figh, and fay with tears, I wish Ine're had loved.

V.

Well then ye fofter Powers that Love Command
And wound our Breafts with pleafing fmart,

Gage

Gage well your Launce, and bear a steddy hand,
Leit it run in too deep into my Heart.

Or if you're fixed in your defign

Deeply to wound my Heart, wound it with Love divine.

To the Memory of my dear Neece, M. C.

BY

I.

Y Tears to ease my Grief I've try'd,
And Philofophick Med'cins have applied;
From Books and Company I've fought relief,
I've used all Spells and Charms of Art
To Lay this Troubler of my Heart;
I have, yet I'm still haunted by my Grief.
These give fome eafe, but yet I find
'Tis Poetry at last must Cure my Mind.

II.

Come then, t'affwage my Pain I'll try
By the fweet magick of thy Harmony.
Begin my Mufe, but 'twill be hard I know
For thee my Genius to forew

To heights that to my Theme are due,
The weight of Grief has fet my Soul fo low.
To grace her Death my trains fhould be
As far above Mortality as fre.

III.

Is the then dead, and can it be
That I can live to write her Elegy?
I hoped, fince 'twas not to my Soul deny'd
To fympathize in all the pain
Which the tho long did well fuftain,
T'have carry'd on the fympathy, and dy'd.
But Death was fo o'repleas'd I fee
At this rich Spoil, that the neglected me.

IV.

Yet has th' of all things made me bare, But Life, nor was it kindness here to fpare. G

So

So when th' Almighty would t' inform Mankind
His Eastern Hero's Patience try
With the Extreams of Mifery;

He gave this Charge to the malicious Fiend;
Of all Life's Bleffings him deprive,
Vex him with all thy Plagues, but let him live.

V.

Yet I will live (fweet Soul) to fave
Thy name, fince thee I cannot from the Grave.
I will not of this Burthen Life complain
Tho Tears than Verfes fafter flow,
Tho I am plung'd in Grief and Woe,
And like th' infpired Sybills write in pain.
To dye for Friends is thought to be
Heroick, but I'll Life endure for thee.

VI.

'Tis juft, fince I in thee did live

That thou fhould'ft Life and Fame from me receive.
But how fhall I this Debt of Juftice pay?.
The Colours of my Poetry
Are all too Dead to Copy thee,

"Twill be Abuse the belt that I can fay.

Nature that wrought thy curious frame

Will find it hard to draw again the fame.
VII.

In Council the Almighty fate

When he did Man his Master-piece create.
His Agent Nature did the fame for thee;

In making thee the wrought for Fame,
And with flow progrefs drew thy Frame,

As he that painted for Eternity.

In her best Mould she did thee cast,

But thou waft over-wrought, and made too fine to last. VIII.

Thy Soul the Saint of this fair Shrine,

Was pure without Alloy, and all Divine.
Active and nimble as Ethereal Light,

Kind as the Angels are above
Who live on Harmony and Love ;

The Rays thou fhott'ft were warm, as well as bright:
So mild, fo pleafing was thy fire,

That none could envy, and all must admire.
IX.

Sickness to whofe ftrong Siege refign
The best of Natures did but fet forth thine.
Wifely thou didst thy Paffions all Controul,
And like a Martyr in the fire
Devout and Patient did't expire,

Pains could expel, but not untune thy Soul.
Thou bore't them all fo Moderately

As if thou mean'ft to teach how I fhould mourn for thee.

X.

No wonder fuch a noble mind
Her way again to Heaven fo foon could find.
Angels, as 'tis but feldom they appear,
So neither do they make long ftay,

They do but vifit, and away,

'Tis pain for them t' endure our too grofs Sphere.
We could not hope for a Reprieve,

She must dye foon, that made fuch hafte to live.
XI.

Heaven did thy lovely Prefence want,
And therefore did fo early thee transplant.
Not 'cause he dar'd not trust thee longer here,
No, fuch fweet Innocence as thine

To take a Stain was too Divine,
But fure he Coveted to have thee there;
For meaner Souls he could delay,
Impatient for thine, he would not stay.

XII.

The Angels too did cover thee

T'advance their Love, their Bliss, their Harmony.
They'd lately made an Anthem to their King,
An Anthem which contain'd a part
All fweet, and full of Heavenly Art,

G'2

Which

Which none but thy Harmonious Soul could fing.
'Twas all Heaven's Vote thou should't be gone
To fill th' Almighty's Oxire, and to adorn his Throne.
. XIII.

Others when gone t' eternal rest
Are faid t'augment the number of the Bleft.
Thou doft their very Happiness improve,
Out of the Croud they fingle thee,
Fond of thy fweet Society,

Thou wat our Darling, and art fo above.
Why fhould we of thy lofs Complain
Which is not only thine, but Heaven's gain?
XIV.

There doft thou fit in Blifs and Light,
Whilft I thy Praife in mournful numbers write.
There doft thou drink at pleafure's virgin Spring,
And find't no leifure in thy Blifs
Ought to admire below, but this.

How can I mourn, when thou doft Anthems fing?
Thy Pardon my tweet Saint I implore,
My Soul ne're difconform'd from thine before.
XV.

Now will I now: My tears fhall flow
No more, I will be bleft 'caufe thou art fo.
I'll borrow Comfort from thy happy ftate,
In Bliss I'll fympathize with thee

As once I did in mifery.

And by Reflection will be Fortunate.

I'll practice now, what's done above, And by thy happy ftate my own improve.

The Refignation.

I.

Long have I view'd, long have I thought,

And held with trembling hand this bitter Draught? 'Twas now just to my Lips applied,

Nature

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