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DUKE OF BUCKINGHAMSHIRE.
1 O thou, whom all mankind in vain withstand, THE TEMPLE OF DEATH.
Each of whose blood must one day stain thy hand !
O thou, who every eye that sces the light
Closest for ever in the shades of night!
To which thy power alone can give relief.
Alas! I ask not to defer my fate,
And that the Earth would in its bowels hide Which done, without an awful horrour, sees, A wretch, whom Heaven invades on every side : Into its wither'd arms, depriv'd of leaves,
That from the sight of day I could remove, Whole flocks of ill-presaging birdis receives : And might have nothing left inc but my love Poisons are all the plants that soil will bear,
“ Thou only comforter of minds opprest, And winter is the only season there:
The port where wearied spirits are at rest; Millions of graves o'erspread the spacious field, Conductor to Elysium, take iny life, i And springs of blood a thousand rivers yield; My breast I offer to thy sacred knife; Whose streams, oppress'd with carcasses and bones, So just a grace refuse not, nor despise Instead of gentle murinurs, pour forth groans A willing, though a worthless sacrifice. Within this vale a famous temple stands,
Others (their frail and mortal state foryot) Old as the world itself, which it commands; Before thy altars are not to be brought Round is its figure, and four iron gates
Without constraint; the noise of dying rage, Divide inankind, by order of the Fates:
Heaps of the slain of every sex and aze, Thither in crowds come, to one cormon grave, The blade all reeking in the gore it shed, The young, the old, the monarch, and the slave. With sever'd heads and arms confus’dly spread; Old Age and Pains, those evils man deplores, The rapid fames of a perpetual fire, Are rigid keepers of th' eternal doors;
The groans of wretches ready to expire : All clad in mournful blacks, which sadly load This tragic scene in terrour makes them live, The sacred walls of this obscure abode;
Till that is forc'd which they should freely give; And tapers, of a pitchy substance made,
| Yielding unwillingly what Heaven will have, With clouds of sinoke, increase the dismal sbade. Their fears eclipse the glory of their grave: A monster, void of reason and of sight,
Before thy face they make indecent moan, The goddess is, who sways this realm of night; And feel a hundred deaths in fearing one : Her power extends o'cr all things that have breath, Thy flame becomes unhallow'd in their breast, A cruel tyrant, and her name is Death.
And he a murderer who was a priest. The fairest object of our wondering eyes
But against me thy strongest forces call, Was newly offer'd up her sacrifice;
And on my head let all the tempest fall; Th' adjoining places where the altar stood,
No mean retreat shall any weakness show, Yet blushing with the fair Almeria's blood,
But calmly I'll expect the fatal blow; When griev'd Orontes, whose unhappy flame My limbs not trembling, in my mind no fear, Is known to all who e'er converse with Fame, Plaints in my mouth, nor in my eyes a trar. His mind possess'd by Fury and Despair,
Think not that time, our wonted sure relief, Within the sacred temple made this praver:
That universal cure for every grief, “Great deity! who in thy hands dost bear Whose aid so many lovers oft' have found, That iron sceptre which poor mortals fear; With like success can ever heal my wound: Who wanting eyes thyself, respectest none,
Too weak the power of Nature, or of Art, And neither spar'st the laurel nor the crown! Nothing but Death can ease a broken heart :
And that thou may'st behold my helpless state, All things below, alas ! uncertain stand ;
The firmest rocks are fix'd upon the sand: Amidst th' innumerable beauteous train, Under this law both kings and kingdoms bend, Paris, the queen of cities, does contain,
And no beginning is without an end. (The fairest town, the largest, and the best) A sacrifice to Time, Fate dooins us all, The fair Almeria shin'd above the rest :
And at the tyrant's feet we daily fall : From her bright eyes to feel a hopeless flame, Time, whose bold hand will bring alike to dust Was of our youth the most ambitious aim; Mankind, and temples too, in which they trust. Her chains were marks of honour to the brave, Her wasted spirits now begin to faint, She made a prince whene'er she made a slave. Yet patience ties her tongue from all complaint, Love, under whose tyrannic power I groan,
And in her heart as in a fort remains ; Shew'd me this beauty ere 'twas fully blown; But yields at last to her resistless pains. Her timorous charms, and her upractis'd look, Thus while the Fever, amorous of his prey, Their first assurance from my conquest took; Through all her veins makes his delightful way, By wounding me, she learn'd the fatalart, Her fate's like Semele's; the flames destroy And the first sigh she had was froin my heart; That beauty they too eagerly enjoy." My eyes, with tears moistening her snowy arms, Her charming face is in its spring decay'd, Render'd the tribute owing to her charıns.
Pale grow the roses, and the lilies fade; But, as I soonest of all mortals paid
Her skiu has lost that lustre which surpass'd My vows, and to her beauty altars made ;
The Sun's, and well deserv'd as long to last: So, among all those slaves that sigh'd in vain, Her eyes, which us'd to pierce the hardest hearts, She thought ine only worthy of my chain :
Are now disarm'd of all their fames and darts; Love's heavy burden my submissive heart
Those stars now heavily and slowly move;
Its rage her body feels, and tongue bewails :
She, whose disdain so many lovers prove,
And with loud cries, which rend the neighbouring And tender looks were cast on me alone.
air, My hopes and dangers were less inine than her's, Wounds my sad heart, and weakens my despair. Those fill'd her soul with joys, and these with fears; Both men and gods I charge now with my loss, Our hearts, united, had the same desires,
And, wild with grief, my thoughts cach other cross, And both alike burn'd with impatient fires. My heart and tongue labour in both extremes, Too faithful Memory! I give thee leave
This sends up humble prayers, while that blas. Thy wretched master kindly to deceive;
phemes: Oh, make me not possessor of her charms,
I ask their help, whose malice I defy, Let me not find her languish in my arms !
And mingle sacrilege with piety. Past joys are now my fancy's mournful themes; But, that which must yet more perplex my mind, Make all my happy nights appear but dreams: To love her truly, I must seem unkind; Let not such bliss before my eyes be brought, So unconcern'd a face my sorrow wears, O hide those scenes froin my tormenting thought; I must restrain unruly floods of tears. And in their place disdainful beauty show; My eyes and tongue put on dissembling forins, If thou would'st not be cruel, make her so :
I show a calmness in the midst of storms; And, something to abate my deep despair,
I seem to hope when all my hopes are gone, O let her seem less gentle, or less fair!
And, almost dead with grief, discover none. But I in vain flatter my wounded mind;
But who can long deceive a loving eye, Never was nymph so lovely or so kind :
Or with dry eyes behold his mistress die; No cold repulses my desire supprest,
When passion had with all its terrours brought I seldom sigh'd, but on Alineria's breast:
Th' approaching danger nearer to my thought, Of all the passions which mankind destroy,
Off on a sudden fell the fore'd disguise, I only felt excess of love and joy:
And show'd a sighing heart in weeping eyes: Unnumber'd pleasures charm'd my sense, and they My apprehensions, now no more confin'd, Were, as my love, without the least allay,
Expos'd my sorrows, and betray'd my mind. As pure, alas! but not so sure, to last,
The fair afflictel soon perceives my tears, For, like a pleasing dream, they are all past. Explains my sighs, and thence concludes my fears: From Heaven her beauties like fierce lightnings With sad presages of her hopeless case, came,
She reads her fate in my dejected face; Which break through darkness with a glorious Then feels my torment, and neglects her own, flame;
While I am sensible of hers alone;
Though thus we suffer under Fortune's darts, None can withstand, and nothing can assuage; 'Tis only those of Love which reach our hearts. And all that light which those bright flashes gave, Mean while the fever mocks at all our fears, Serves only to conduct us to our grave.
Grows by our sighs, and rages at our tears:
Almeria then, feeling the destinies
About to shut her lips, and close her eyes
Weeping, in mine, fix'd her fair trembling hand, And through the closest pores a passage find, And with these words I scarce could understand, Like that of light, to shine o'er all the mind. Her passion in a dying voice expressid
The want of love does both extremes produce; Half, and her sighs, alas ! made out the rest. Maids are too nice, and men as inuch too loose; “ 'Tis past; this pang - Nature gives o'er the While equal good an amorous couple find, strife;
She makes him constant, and he makes her kind. Thou must thy mistress lose, and I my life.
New charms in vain a lover's faith would prove; I die; but dying thine, the Fates may prove
Hermits or bed-rid men they'll sooner move: Their conquest over ine, but not my love:
The fair inveigler will but sadly find Thy memory, my glory and my pain,
There's no such eunuch as a man in love. In spite of Death itself shall still remain.
But when by his chaste nymph einbraci, Dearest Orontes, my hard fate denies,
(For Love makes all embraces chaste) That hope is the last thing which in us dies: [Aed, Then the transported creature can From my griev'd breast all those soft thoughts are Do wonders, and is more than man. And love survives it, though my hope is dead; Both Heaven and Earth would our desires contine; I yield my life, but keep my passion yet,
But yet in vain both Heaven and Earth combine, And can all thoughts, but of Orontes, quit. Unless where Love blesses the great design
“My flame increases as my strength decays; Hymen makes fast the band, but Love the heart; Death, which puts out the light, the heat will He the fool's god, thou Nature's Hymen art; raise :
Whose laws, once broke, we are not held by force, That still remains, though I from hence remove; But the false breach itself is a divorce. I lose my lover, but I keep my love.” (word,
For Love the miser will his gold despise, The sighs which sent forth that last tender
| The false grow faithful, and the foolish wise ; Up tov'rds the Heavens like a bright meteor soar'd;
| Cautious the young, and complaisant the old, And the kind nymph, not yet bereft of charms,
The cruel gentle, and the coward bold. Fell cold and breathless in her lover's arms.
Thon glorious Sun within our souls, Goddess, who now my fate hast understood,
Whose in:luence so much controls; Spare bot my tears, and freely take my blood :
Ev'n dull and heavy lumps of Lore, Here let me end the story of my cares;
Quicken'd by thee, more lively move; My dismal grief enough the rest declares.
And, if their heads but any substance hold, Judge thou, by all this misery display'd,
Love ripens all that dross into the purest gold. Whether I ought not to implore thy aid :
In Heaven's great work thy part is such, Thus to survive, reproaches on me draws;
That, master-like, thou gir'st the last great touch Never sad wishes had so just a cause.
To Heaven's own master-piece of man; Come then, my only hope ; in every place
And finishest what Nature but began : Thou visitest, men tremble at thy face,
Thy happy stroke can into softness bring Aad fear thy name: once let thy fatal hand
Reason, that rough and wrangling thing. Fall og a swain that does the blow demand.
From childhood upuards we decay, Poochsate thv dart; I need not one of those,
And grow but greater children every day: With wbich thou dost unwilling kings depose :
To Reason, how can we be said to rise? A welcome death the slightest wound can bring,
So many cares attend the being uisc, And free a Soul already on her wing.
'Tis rather falling down a precipice. Without thv aid, most miserable I
From Sense to Reason improv'd we move; Hust ever sish, yet not obtain to die.
We only then advance, when Reason turns to Love.
Thou reignest o'er our carthly gods;
One Beauty's sinile their meanest courtier brings
Rather to pity than to envy kings; Let others songs or satires write,
His fellow slaves he takes them now to be, Prorok'd by ranity or spite;
Favour'd by Love, perbaps, much less than he. My Muse a nobler cause shall more,
Por Love, the timorous bashful maid To suund aloud the praise of Lore:
Of nothing but denying is afraid;
For Love she overcomes her shame,
Yet, if but with a constant lover blest,
Thanks Heaven for that, and never minds the rest. By Lore we are above ourselves refin'd.
Love is the salt of life; a higher taste (In, Lore, thou trance divine! in which the Soul,
It gives to pleasure, and then makes it last. Inclozi'd with worldly cares, may range without
Those slighted favours which cold nymphs dispense, contrul;
Mere rominon counters of the sense, And, sparing to her Hearen, from thence inspir'd
Defective both in metal and in measure,
A lover's fancy coins into a treasure.
But the kind god incites us various ways, of men two rough for peace, too rude for arts, | And now I find him all my ardour raise, Lure power can penetrate the hardest hearts; His precepts to prrform, as well as praise,
LOVE'S SLAVERY, Grave fops my envy now beget,
Who did my pity move;
Are free from cares of love.
By that defect, secure
Which all the rest endure,
ELEGY TO THE DUTCHESS OF RThou lovely slave to a rude husband's will, By Nature us'd so well, by him so ill! For all that grief we see your mind endure, Your glass presents you with a pleasing cure, Those maids you envy for their happier state, To have your form, would gladly have your fate; And of like slavery each wife complains, Without such beauty's help to bear her chains. Husbands like him we every where may see; But where can we behold a wife like thee?
While to a tyrant you by Fate are tyd, By Love you tyrannize o'er all beside: T'hose eyes, though weeping, can no pity move; Worthy our grief! more worthy of our love! You, while so fair (do Fortune what she please) Can be no more in pain than we at ease; Unless, unsatisfied with all our vows, Your vain ambition so unbounded grows, That you repine a husband should escape Th' united force of such a face and shape. If so, alas ! for all those charming powers, Your case is just as desperate as ours, Expect that birds should only sing to you, . And, as you walk, that ev'ry tree should bow ; Expect those statues, as you pass, should burn; And that with wonder men should statues turn; . Such beauty is enough to give things life, But not to make a husband love his wife: A husband, worse than statues, or than trees ; Colder than those, less sensible than these. Then from so dull a care your thoughts remove, And waste not sighs you only owe to Love. 'Tis pity, sighs from such a breast should part, Unless to ease some doubtful lover's heart; Who dies, because he must too justly prize What yet the dull possessor does despise. Thus precious jewels among Indians grow, Who nor their use, nor wondrous value, know; But we, for those bright treasures, tempt the main, And hazard life for what the fools disdain,
So I, who suffer cold neglect
And wounds from Celia's eyes, Begin extremely to respect
These fools, that seem so wise. "Tis true, they fondly set their hearts
On things of no delight;
They pass alone the night.
Such servants she disdains ;
While I endure her chains.
THE DREAM Ready to throw me at the feet
Of that fair nymph whom I adore, Impatient those delights to meet
Which I enjoy'd the night before;
By her wonted scornful brow,
Soon the fond mistake I find; Ixion mourn'd his errour so,
When Juno's form the cloud resign'd.
Sleep, to make its charms more priz'd
Than waking joys, which most prevail, Had cunningly itself disguis d
In a shape that could not fajl.
A LETTER FROM SEA. FAIREST, if time and absence can incline Your heart to wandering thoughts no more than
inine; Then shall my hand, as changeless as my mind, From your glad eyes a kindly welcome find; Then, while this note my constancy assures, You'll be almost as pleas'd, as I with yours. And trust me, when I feel that kind relief, Absence itself awile suspends its grief : So may it do with you, but strait return; For it were cruel not sometimes to mourn His fate, who, this long time he keeps away, Mourns all the night, and sighs out all the day; Grieving yet more, when he reflects, that you Must not be happy, or must not be true. But since to me it seems a blacker fate To be inconstant, than unfortunate; Remember all those vows between us past, When I from all I value parted last; May you alike with kind in patience burn; And somethink miss, till I with joy return; And soon may pitying Heaven that blessing give,
ving Heaven that blessing give, As in the hopes of that alone I live.
There my Celia's snowy arms,
Breasts, and other parts more dear, Exposing new and unknown charms,
To my transported soul appear. Then you so much kindness show,
My despair deluded flies; And indulgent dreams bestow
What your cruelty denies. Blush not that your image Love
Naked to my fancy brought; 'Tiş hard, methinks, to disapprove
The joys I feel without your fault. Wonder not a fancy'd bliss
Can such griefs as mine remove; That honour as fantastic is,
Which makes you slight such constant love. The virtue which you value so,
Is but a fancy frail and vain; Nothing is solid here below
Except my love and your disdain,
A heart by kindness only gain'd,
Will a dear conquest prove; BEING TOO SENSUAL IN HIS LOVE. And, to be kept, must be maintain'd
At vast expense of love.
To bless the man who so adores;
THE VENTURE. Beauty is Heaven's most bounteous gift esteer'd,
| Oh, how I langnish! what a strange Because by love men are from vice redeemn'd.
Unruly fierce desire! Yet wish not vainly for a love
My spirits fi cl some wondrous change, From all tbe force of nature clear;
My heart is all on fire,
Now, all ye wiser thoughts, away, For sensual joys ye scorn that we should love ye,
In vain your tale ye tell But love, without them, is as much above ye.
of patient hopes, and dull delay,
Love's foppish part; farewell.
All that my wishes move;
Who, ho so long a time can live,
Stretch'd on the rack of Love? In passion's fond extremes,
Her soul, perhaps, is too sublime, Who aream of women's love and truth,
To like such slavish fear; And doat upon your dreams :
Discretion, prudence, all is crime, I should not here your fancy take
If once condemn’d by her. From such a pleasing state,
When honour does the soldier call Were you not sure at last to wake,
To some unequal fight, And find your fault too late.
Resolv'd to conquer, or to fall, Then learn, betimes, the love which crowns
Before his general's sight; Our cares is all but wiles,
Advane'd the happy hero lives; Compos'd of false fantastic frowns,
Or, if ill Fate denies, And soft dissembling smiles.
The noble rashness Heaven forgives, With anger, which sometimes they feign,
And gloriously he dies.
SONG. Those lovers are the most content
I must confess, I am untrue That have been still refus'd.
To Gloriana's eyes;
But he that's sinil'd upon by you, Since each has in his bosom nurst
Mast all the world despise. A false and fawning foe, 'Tis just and wise, by striking first,
In winter, fires of little worth
Excite our dull desire;
Those fainter flames expire.
Then blame me not for slighting now TO AMORETTA.
What I did once adore ; When I held out against your eyes,
0, do but this one change allow, You took the surest course
And I can change no more: A heart unwary to surprise,
Fixt by your never-failing charms, You ne'er could take by force.
Till I with age d 'cay, However, though I strive no more,
Till languishing within your arms, The fort will now be priz'd,
I sigh my soul away. Which, if surrender'd up before,
Perhaps had been despis’d. But, gentle Amoretta, though
SONG, I cannot love resist,
Oh, conceal that charming creature Think not, wben you have caught me so,
From my wondering, wishing eyes ! To use me as you list.
Every motion, every feature, Inconstancy or coldness will
Does some ravish'd heart surprise; My foolish heart reclaim:
But, oh! I sighing, sighing, see Then I come off with honour still,
The happy swain! she ne'er can be But you, alas! witb shame,
False to him, or kind to me.