Yours, the best copy of th' original face,
Whose beauty was to furnish all the race
Such chains no author could efcape but he;
There's no way to be fafe, but not to fee.
To the Lady DURSLEY. On the fame Subject. HERE reading how fond Adam was betray'd,
And how by fin Eve's blafted charms decay'd;
Our common lofs unjustly you complain;
So fmall that part of it, which you sustain.
You ftill, fair mother, in your offspring trace
The stock of beauty deftin'd for the race :
Kind nature, forming them, the pattern took
From Heaven's first work, and Eve's original look.
You, happy faint, the ferpent's power controul:
Scarce any actual guilt defiles your foul:
And hell does o'er that mind vain triumph boast,
Which gains a Heaven, for earthly Eden loft.
With virtue strong as yours had Eve been arm'd,
In vain the fruit had blush'd, or ferpent charm'd ;
Nor had our blifs by penitence been bought;
Nor had frail Adam fall'n, nor Milton wrote.
To my Lord BUCKHURST, very young,
playing with a Cat.
HE amorous youth, whofe tender breast
Was by his darling cat poffeft,
Obtain'd of Venus his defire,
Howe'er irregular his fire:
Nature the power of love obey'd,
The cat became a blushing maid;
And, on the happy change, the boy
Employ'd his wonder and his joy.
Take care, O beauteous child, take care,
Left thou prefer fo rafh a prayer:
Nor vainly hope, the queen of love
Will e'er thy favourite's charms improve.
O quickly from her fhrine retreat;
Or tremble for thy darling's fate.
The queen of love, who foon will fee
Her own Adonis live in thee,
Will lightly her firft lofs deplore;
Will eafily forgive the boar:
Her eyes with tears no more will flow;
With jealous rage her breaft will glow
And, on her tabby rival's face,
She deep will mark her new difgrace.
HILE from our looks, fair nymph, you guef
The fecret paffions of our mind;
My heavy eyes, you fay, confefs,
A heart to love and grief inclin’d.
There needs, alas! but little art,
To have this fatal fecret found;
With the fame eafe you threw the dart,
Tis certain you may fhew the wound.
How can I fee you, and not love,
While you as opening east are fair?
While cold as northern blasts you prove,
How can I love, and not defpair ?
The wretch in double fetters bound
Your potent mercy may release :
Soon, if my love but once were crown'd,
Fair prophetefs, my grief would cease.
You with fair winds may waft him over.
Alas! what winds can happy prove,
That bear me far from what I love?
Alas! what dangers on the main
Can equal thofe that I sustain,
From flighted vows, and cold disdan?
Be gentle, and in pity choose
To with the wildeft tempefts loose :
That, thrown again upon the coast
Where firft my fhipwreck'd heart was loft,
"I may once more repeat my pain;
Once more in dying notes complain
Of flighted vows, and cold difdain.
The DESPAIRING SHEPHERD
ALEXIS fhunn'd his fellow-fwains,
Their rural fports, and jocund strains:
(Heaven guard us all from Cupid's bow!)
He loft his crook, he left his flocks;
And, wandering through the lonely rocks,
He nourish'd endless woe.
The nymphs and fhepherds round him came
His grief fome pity, others blame
The fatal caufe all kindly feek:
He mingled his concern with theirs ;
them back their friendly tears;
He figh'd, but would not speak.
Clorinda came among the reft;
And the too kind concern expreft,
And afk'd the reafon of his woe:
She afk'd, but with an air and mien,
That made it eafily forefeen,
She fear'd too much to know.
The fhepherd rais'd his mournful head;
And will you pardon me, he said,
While I the cruel truth reveal?
Which nothing from my breast should tear;
Which never fhould 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 caufe of all my care:
Your eyes ten thousand dangers dart;
Ten thoufand torments vex my heart:
I love, and I defpair.
Too much, Alexis, I have heard:
'Tis what I thought; 'tis what I fear'd:
And yet I pardon you, fhe 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 Hon. CHARLES MONTAGUE, Efq. afterwards Earl of HALIFAX.
HOWE'ER, 'tis well, that while mankind
Through fate's preverse mæander 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 artift, wooes
The image he himself has wrought.
III.
Againft experience he believes ;
He argues against demonstration ; Pleas'd, when his reafon he deceives; And fets his judgement by his paffion.
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