STILL, Dorinda, I adore ;

Think I mean not to deceive you :
For I lov'd you much before,
And, alas! now love you more,
Though I force myself to leave you.

Staying, I my vows shall fail;
Virtue yields, as love grows ftronger
Fierce defires will fure prevail;
You are fair; and I am frail,
And dare truft myself no longer,

You, my love, too nicely coy,
Left I should have gain'd the treasure,
Made my vows and oaths destroy
The pleasing hopes I did enjoy
Of all my future peace and pleasure,

Το

To my vows I have been true, And in filence hid my anguish,

But I cannot promise too

What my love may make me do, While with her for whom I languish.

For in thee ftrange magick lies,
And my heart is too, too tender;
Nothing's proof against thofe eyes,
Beft refolves and ftricteft ties
To their force muft foon furrender.

But, Dorinda, you 're fevere,
I moft doating, thus to fever;
Since from all I hold most dear,
That you may no longer fear,
I divorce myself for ever,

SET

R 4

IX.

SET BY

MR. DE FESCH,

Is it, O Love, thy want of eyes,

Or by the Fates decreed,
That hearts fo feldom fympathize,

Or for each other bleed?

If thou would't make two youthful hearts
One amorous fhaft obey;

"T would fave thee the expence of darts,

And more extend thy fway.

Forbear, alas! thus to destroy

Thyfelf, thy growing power;

For that which would be stretch'd by joy,
Defpair will foon devour.

Ah! wound then, my relentless fair,

For thy own fake and mine;

That boundless blifs may be my fhare,

And double glory thine.

WHY, Harry, what ails you? why look you

fo fad ?

To think and ne'er drink, will make you ftark

mad.

'Tis the mistress, the friend, and the bottle, ola

boy!

Which create all the pleasure poor mortals

enjoy ;

But wine of the three 's the most cordial bro

ther,

For one it relieves, and it strengthens the other.

XL. SET

SINCE my words, though neʼer so tender,

With fincereft truth expreft, Cannot make your heart furrender, Nor fo much as warm your breaft:

What will move the springs of nature ?
What will make you think me true?
Tell me, thou mysterious creature,
Tell poor Strephon what will do.

Do not, Charmion, rack your lover
Thus, by feeming not to know.

What fo plainly all discover,
What his eyes fo plainly show.

Fair-one, 'tis yourself deceiving,
'Tis against your Reason's law :
Atheist-like (th' effect deceiving)
Still to difbelieve the caufe.

SET