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Brought, by long habitude, from bad to worse,
Muft hear the frequent oath, the direful curfe,
That latest weapon of the wretches war,
And blafphemy, fad comrade of despair.

Now, Emma, now the laft reflection make,
What thou wouldst follow, what thou must forfake;

By our ill-omen'd stars and adverse heav'n,

No middle object to thy choice is giv'n:

Or yield thy virtue to attain thy love,

Or leave a banish'd man, condemn'd in woods to rove.

EMMA.

O, grief of heart! that our unhappy fates
Force thee to fuffer what thy honour hates ;
Mix thee amongst the bad, or make thee run
Too near the paths which Virtue bids thee shun.
Yet with her Henry ftill let Emma go;
With him abhor the vice, but fhare the woe:
And, fure, my little heart can never err,
Amidst the worst, if Henry still be there.

Our outward act is prompted from within,
And from the finger's mind proceeds the fin:
By her own choice free Virtue is approv'd,
Nor by the force of outward objects mov❜d.
Who has affay'd no danger, gains no praise.
In a small isle, amidst the widest seas,
Triumphant Conftancy has fix'd her feat:
In vain the Syrens fing, the tempefts beat;
Their flatt'y fhe rejects, nor fears their threat.
For thee alone thefe little charms I drefs'd,
Condemn'd them, or abfolv'd them, by thy teft;
In comely figure rang'd, my jewels fhone,
Or negligently plac'd, for thee alone:
For thee again they fhall be laid afide;
The woman, Henry, fhall put off her pride

For thee; my cloaths, my fex, exchang'd for thee,
I'll mingle with the people's wretched lee;
O line extreme of human infamy!

Wanting

Wanting the fciffars, with thefe hands I'll tear
(If that obftructs my flight) this load of hair;
Black foot, or yellow walnut, fhall disgrace
This little red and white of Emma's face ;

These nails with scratches fhall deform my breast,

Left by my look or colour be exprefs'd,

The mark of aught high-born, or ever better drefs'd.

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Yet, in this commerce, under this disguise,

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Let me be grateful ftill to Henry's eyes;

Loft to the world, let me to him be known;
My fate I can absolve, if he shall own,

That, leaving all mankind, I love but him alone.

HENRY.

O, wildeft thought of an abandon'd mind!
Name, habit, parents, woman, left behind,
E'en honour dubious, thou preferr'st to go
Wild to the woods with me: said Emma fo?
Or did I dream what Emma never said ?
O guilty error! and, O wretched maid!
Whose roving fancy would refolve the fame
With him who next should tempt her easy fame,
And blow with empty words the fufceptible flame.
Now why should doubtful terms thy mind perplex?
Confefs thy frailty, and avow the sex :

No longer loose defire for conftant love

Mistake; but say, 'tis man with whom thou long'ft to rove.

EMMA.

Are there not poisons, racks, and flames, and fwords,
That Emma thus muft die by Henry's words?

Yet what could swords or poison, racks or flame,
But mangle and disjoint this brittle frame!

More fatal Henry's words, they murder Emma's fame.
And fall these fayings from that gentle tongue,
Where civil speech and foft perfuafion hung?
Whofe artful sweetness and harmonious ftrain,
Courting my grace, yet courting it in vain,

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Call'd

Call'd fighs, and tears, and wishes, to it's aid,
And, whilft it Henry's glowing flame convey'd,
Still blam'd the coldness of the Nut-brown Maid ?
Let envious Jealousy and canker'd Spite
Produce my actions to fevereft light,

- And tax my open day or fecret night.
Did e'er my tongue fpeak my unguarded heart
The leaft inclin'd to play the wanton's part?
Did e'er my eye one inward thought reveal,
Which angels might not hear, and virgins tell?
And haft thou, Henry, in my conduct known
One fault, but that which I must ever own,

That I, of all mankind, have lov'd but thee alone?

HENRY.

Vainly thou talk'ft of loving me alone;
Each man is man, and all our fex is one :
Falfe are our words, and fickle is our mind;
Nor in Love's ritual can we ever find
Vows made to laft, or promises to bind.

By Nature prompted, and for empire made,
Alike by ftrength or cunning we invade :
When, arm'd with rage, we march against the foe,
We lift the battle-ax, and draw the bow;
When, fir'd with paffion, we attack the fair,
Delufive fighs and brittle vows we bear;
Our falfhood and our arms have equal ufe,
As they our conqueft or delight produce.

The foolish heart thou gav'ft, again receive,

The only boon departing love can give.
To be lefs wretched, be no longer true;

What ftrives to fly thee, why fhouldst thou purfue?
Forget the prefent flame, indulge a new :
Single the lovelieft of the am'rous youth;
Afk for his vow, but hope not for his truth.
The next man (and the next thou shalt believe)
Will pawn his gods, intending to deceive;
Will kneel, implore, perfift, o'ercome, and leave.

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Hence,

Hence, let thy Cupid aim his arrows right;
Be wife and falfe, fhun trouble, feek delight;
Change thou the first, nor wait thy lover's flight.

Why shouldst thou weep? Let Nature judge our cafe..

I faw thee young and fair; purfu'd the chace
Of youth and beauty : I another faw,
Fairer and younger; yielding to the law
Of our all-ruling mother, I pursu'd
More youth, more beauty; blefs'd viciffitude!
My active heart ftill keeps it's pristine flame;
The object alter'd, the defire the fame.

This younger, fairer, pleads her rightful charms;
With present pow'r compels me to her arms :
And much I fear, from my fubjected mind,
(If beauty's force to conftant love can bind).
That years may roll, ere in her turn the maid
Shall weep the fury of my love decay'd;
And weeping follow me, as thou dost now,
With idle clamours of a broken vow.

Nor can the wildness of thy wishes err

So wide, to hope that thou mayft live with her :
Love, well thou know'ft, no partnership allows;
Cupid averfe, rejects divided vows.

Then, from thy foolish heart, vain maid, remove
An useless forrow, and an ill-starr'd love;

And leave me, with the fair, at large in woods to rove.

EMMA.

Are we in life through one great error led?
Is each man perjur'd, and each nymph betray'd?
Of the fuperior fex art thou the worst ?
Am I of mine the most compleatly curs'd?
Yet let me go with thee; and going prove,
From what I will endure, how much I love.
This potent beauty, this triumphant fair,

This happy object of our diff'rent care,
Her let me follow; her let me attend,

A fervant, (fhe may fcorn the name of friend.)

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What

What she demands, inceffant I'll prepare ;
I'll weave her garlands, and I'll plait her hair:
My bufy diligence fhall deck her board,
(For there, at least, I may approach my lord ;)
And when her Henry's fofter hours advise
His fervant's abfence, with dejected eyes
Far I'll recede, and fighs forbid to rife.

Yet, when increasing grief brings flow disease,
And ebbing life, on terms fevere as these,
Will have it's little lamp no longer fed;
When Henry's mistress fhews him Emma dead;
Rescue my poor remains from vile neglect:
With virgin honours let my hearse be deck'd,
And decent emblem; and, at least, perfuade
This happy nymph, that Emma may be laid
Where thou, dear author of my death, where the,
With frequent eye, my fepulchre may fee.

The nymph, amidst her joys, may haply breathe
One pious figh, reflecting on my death;
And the fad fate which fhe may one day prove,
Who hopes from Henry's vows eternal love.
And thou, forefworn, thou, cruel as thou art,
If Emma's image ever touch'd thy heart,
Thou, fure, muft give one thought, and drop one tear,
To her whom love abandon'd to despair;

To her who, dying, on the wounded stone,
Bid it in lafting characters be known,

That, of mankind, fhe lov'd but thee alone.

HENRY.

Hear, folemn Jove; and, confcious Venus, hear;
And thou, bright maid, believe me whilst I swear:
No time, no change, no future flame, shall move
The well-plac'd bafis of my lasting love.
O, pow'rful virtue! O, victorious fair!
At least, excufe a trial too fevere;
Receive the triumph, and forget the war.

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