ELEGY TO THE DUTCHESS OF R

THOU 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 ty'd,
By Love you tyrannize o'er all beside:
Those 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 caur 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 husban! 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.

A LETTER FROM SEA.

FAIREST, if time and absence can incline

Your heart to wandering thoughts no more than

mine;

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 1 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 vet 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 impatience burn;
And somethink miss, till I with joy return;
And soon may pitying Heaven that blessing give,
As in the hopes of that alone I live.

LOVE'S SLAVERY. beget,

GRAVE fops my envy now

Who did my pity move;
They, by the right of wanting wit,
Are free from cares of love.

Turks honour fools, because they are,
By that defect, secure
From slavery and toils of war,
Which all the rest endure.

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 foudly set their hearts
On things of no delight;
To pass all day for men of parts,
They pass alone the night.

But Celia never breaks their rest;
Such servants she disdains;
And so the fops are duly blest,
While I endure her chains,

THE DREAM.

READY to throw me at the fert
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 fail.

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;
'Tis 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

TO ONE WHO ACCUSED HIM OP
BEING TOO SENSUAL IN HIS LOVE.

THINK not, my fair, 'tis sin or shame,
To bless the man who so adores;
Nor give so hard, unjust a name

To all those favours he implores.

Beauty is Heaven's most bounteous gift esteem'd, Because by love men are from vice redeem'd.

Yet wish not vainly for a love

From all the force of nature clear; That is reserv'd for those above,

And 'tis a fault to claim it here.

For sensual joys ye scorn that we should love ye, But love, without them, is as much above ye.

THE WARNING.

LOVERS, who waste your thoughts and youth
In passion's fond extremes,

Who dream of women's love and truth,
And doat upon your dreams:

I should not here your fancy take
From such a pleasing state,

Were you not sure at last to wake,

And find your fault too late.

Then learn, betimes, the love which crowns
Our cares is all but wiles,
Compos'd of false fantastic frowns,
And soft dissembling smiles.

With anger, which sometimes they feign,
They cruel tyrants prove;

And then turn flatterers again,
With as affected love.

As if some injury was meant
To those they kindly us'd,
Those lovers are the most content
That have been still refus'd.
Since each has in his bosom nurst
A false and fawning foe,
Tis just and wise, by striking first,
To 'scape the fatal blow.

TO AMORETTA.

WHEN I held out against your eyes,

You took the surest course

A heart unwary to surprise,

You ne'er could take by force. However, though I strive no more, The fort will now be priz'd, Which, if surrender'd up before, Perhaps had been despis'd.

But, gentle Amoretta, though

I cannot love resist,

Think not, when you have caught me so, To use me as you list.

Inconstancy or coldness will

My foolish heart reclaim:

Then I come off with honour still,
But you, alas! with shame.

A heart by kindness only gain'd,
Will a dear conquest prove;
And, to be kept, must be maintain'd
At vast expense of love.

THE VENTURE,

Он, how I languish! what a strange

Unruly fierce desire!

My spirits feel some wondrous change,
My heart is all on fire.

Now, all ye wiser thoughts, away,
In vain your tale ye tell
Of patient hopes, and dull delay,
Love's foppish part; farewell.
Suppose one week's delay would give
All that my wishes move;
Who, who so long a time can live,
Stretch'd on the rack of Love?

Her soul, perhaps, is too sublime,
To like such slavish fear;
Discretion, prudence, all is crime,
If once condemn'd by her,
When honour does the soldier cali
To some unequal fight,
Resolv'd to conquer, or to fall,

Before his general's sight;
Advanc'd the happy hero lives;
Or, if ill Fate denies,

The noble rashness Heaven forgives, And gloriously he dies.

INCONSTANCY EXCUSED.

SONG.

I MUST confess, I am untrue
To Gloriana's eyes;

But he that's smil'd upon by you,
Must all the world despise.

In winter, fires of little worth

Excite our dull desire;

But when the Sun breaks kindly forth, Those fainter flames expire.

Then blame me not for slighting now
What I did once adore;

O, do but this one change allow,
And I can change no more:

Fixt by your never-failing charms,
Till I with age decay,

Fill languishing within your arms,
I sigh my soul away.

SONG.

Оn, conceal that charming creature From my wondering, wishing eyes! Every motion, every feature,

Does some ravish'd heart surprise; But, oh! I sighing, sighing, see The happy swain! she ne'er can be False to him, or kind to me.

Yet, if I could humbly show her,

Ah how wretched I remain; 'Tis not, sure a thing below her,

Still to pity so much pain.

The gods some pleasure, pleasure take,
Happy as themselves to make
Those who suffer for their sake.

Since your hand alone was given

To a wretch not worth your care;
Like some angel sent from Heaven,

Come, and raise me from despair.
Your heart I cannot, cannot miss,
And I desire no other bliss;
Let all the world besides be his.

DESPAIR.

ALL hopeless of relief,

Incapable of rest,

In vain I strive to vent a grief

That's not to be exprest.

This rage within my

veins

No reason can remove;

Of all the mind's most cruel pains, The sharpest, sure, is love.

Yet while I languish so,

And on thee vainly call;

Take heed, fair cause of all my woe, What fate may thee befall. Ungrateful, cruel faults

Suit not thy gentle sex; Hereafter, how will guilty thoughts Thy tender conscience vex! When welcome Death shall bring Relief to wretched me,

My soul enlarg'd, and once on wing, In haste will fly to thee.

When in thy lonely bed

My ghost its moan shall make,
With saddest signs that I am dead,
And dead for thy dear sake;
Struck with that conscious blow,
Thy very soul will start:
Pale as my shadow thou wilt grow,
And cold as is thy heart.
Too late remorse will then
Untimely pity show

To him, who, of all mortal men,
Did most thy value know.

Yet, with this broken heart,
I wish thou never be

Tormented with the thousandth part
Of what I feel for thee,

ON APPREHENSION OF LOSING

WHAT HE HAD NEWLY GAINED.

IN IMITATION OF OVID.

SURE I of all men am the first

That ever was by kindness curst,
Who must my only bliss bemoan,
And am by happiness undone,

Had I at distance only seen
That lovely face, I might have been
With the delightful object pleas'd,
But not with all this passion seiz'd.

When afterwards so near I came
As to be scorch'd in Beauty's flame;
To so much softness, so much sense,
Reason itself made no defence.

What pleasing thoughts possess'd my mind,
When little favours show'd you kind!
And though, when coldness oft prevail'd,
My heart would sink, and spirits fail'd,
Yet willingly the yoke I bore,
And all your chains as bracelets wore:
At your lov'd feet all day would lie,
Desiring, without knowing why;
For, not yet blest within your armis,
Who could have thought of half your charms?
Charms of such a wondrous kind,
Words we cannot, must not find,
A body worthy of your mind.
Fancy could ne'er so high reflect,
Nor love itself such joys expect.
After such embraces past,
Whose memory will ever last,
Love is still reflecting back;
All my soul is on a rack:

To be in Hell's sufficient curse,
But to fall from Heaven is worse.
I liv'd in grief ere this I knew,
But then I dwelt in darkness too.
Of gains alas! I could not boast;
But little thought how much I lost.

Now heart-devouring eagerness,
And sharp impatience to possess;
Now restless cares, consuming fires,
Anxious thoughts, and fierce desires,
Tear my heart to that degree,
For ever fix'd on only thee:
Then all my comfort is, I shall
Live in thy arms, or not at all.

THE RECONCILEMENT.

SONG.

COME, let us now resolve at last

To live and love in quiet;
We'll tie the knot so very fast,

That Time shall ne'er untic it.
The truest joys they seldom prove,
Who free from quarrels live ;
"Tis the most tender part of love,
Each other to forgive.

When least I seem'd concern'd, I took
No pleasure, nor no rest;
And when I feign'd an angry look,
Alas! I lov'd you best.

Own but the same to me, you'll find
How blest will be our fate;
Oh, to be happy, to be kind,
Sure never is too late.

SONG.

FROM all uneasy passions free,

Revenge, ambition, jealousy,

Contented I had been too blest,

If Love and you had let me rest:

Yet that dull life I now despise;

Safe from your eyes,

I fear'd no grief, but then I found no joys.

Amidst a thousand kind desires,

Which Beauty moves, and Love inspires ;
Such pangs I feel of tender fear,

No heart so soft as mine can bear:
Yet I'll defy the worst of harms;

Such are your charms,

'Tis worth a life to die within your arms.

TO A COQUET BEAUTY.

FROM wars and plagues come no such harms, As from a nymph so full of charms,

So much sweetness in her face,

In her motions such a grace,

In her kind inviting eyes
Such a soft enchantment lies,
That we please ourselves too soon,
And are with empty hopes undone.
After all her softness, we
Are but slaves, while she is free;
Free, alas! from all desire,
Except to set the world on fire.

Thou, fair dissembler, dost but thus
Deceive thyself, as well as us.
Like a restless monarch, thou
Wouldst rather force mankind to bow,
And venture round the world to roam,
Then govern peaceably at home.

But trust me, Celia, trust me, when
Apollo's self inspires my pen,
One hour of love's delight outweighs
Whole years of universal praise;
And one adorer, kindly us'd,
Gives truer joys than crowds refus'd.
For what does youth and beauty serve?
Why more than all your sex deserve ?
Why such soft alluring arts

To charm our eyes, and melt our hearts?
By our loss you nothing gain:
Unless you love, you please in vain.

If once again my vows displease,. There never was so lost a lover; In love, that languishing disease, A sad relapse we ne'er recover.

THE RECOVERY. SIGHING and languishing I lay,

A stranger grown to ail delight, Passing with tedions thoughts the day, And with unquiet dreams the night. For your dear sake, my only care Was how my fatal love to hide; For ever drooping with despair,

Neglecting all the world beside: Till, like some angel from above, Cornelia came to my relief; And then I found the joys of love

Can make amends for all the grief. Those pleasing hopes I now pursue ·

Might fail if you could prove unjust; But promises from Heaven and you, Who is so impious to mistrust?

Here all my doubts and troubles end,
One tender word my soul assures ;

Nor am I vain, since I depend
Not on my own desert, but yours.

THE CONVERT.

DEJECTED, as true converts die,

But yet with fervent thoughts inflam'd,

So, fairest at your feet I lic,

Of all my sex's faults asham'd.

Too long, alas! have I abus'd

Love's innocent and sacred flame, And that divinest power have us'd To laugh at, as an idle name.

But since so freely I confess

A crime which may your scorn produce, Allow me now to make it less

By any just and fair excuse.

I then did vulgar joys pursue,
Variety was all my bliss;
But ignorant of love and you,
How could I choose but do amiss?

If ever now my wandering eyes
Seek out amusements as before;
If e'er I look, but to despise

Such charms, and value yours the more;
May sad remorse, and guilty shame,
Revenge your wrongs on faithless me;
And, what I tremble even to name,
May I lose all in losing thee!

THE PICTURE.

IN IMITATION OF ANACREON.

Thou flatterer of all the fair,
Come with all your skill and care;

Draw me such a shape and face,
As your flattery would disgrace.
Wish not that she would appear,
'Tis well for you she is not heres
Scarce can you with safety see
All her charms deserib'd by me:
I, alas the danger know,
I, alas! have felt the blow;
Mourn, as lost, my former days,
That never sung of Celia's praise;
And those few that are behind
I shall blest or wretched find,
Only just as she is kind.

With her tempting eyes begin,
Eyes that would draw angels in
To a second sweeter sin.
Oh, those wanton rolling eyes!
At each glance a lover dies:
Make them bright, yet make them willing,
Let them look both kind and killing.

Next, draw her forehead; then her nose, And lips just opening, that disclose Teeth so bright, and breath so sweet, So much beauty, so much wit, To our very soul they strike, All our senses pleas'd alike.

But so pure a white and red,
Never, never, can be said:
What are words in such a case?
What is paint to such a face?
How should either art avail us?
Fancy here itself must fail us.

In her looks, and in her mien,
Such a graceful air is seen,
That if you, with all your art,
Can but reach the smallest part;
Next to her, the matchless she,
We shall wonder most at thee.

Then her neck, and breasts, and hair,
And her but my charming fair
Does in a thousand things excel,
Which I must not, dare not tell.
How go on then? Oh' I see
A lovely Venus drawn by thee;
Oh how fair she does appear!
Touch it only here and there.
Make her yet seem more divine,
Your Venus then may look like mine,-
Whose bright form if once you saw,
You by her would Venus draw.

If from the glorious height he falls,

He greatly daring dies;

Or mounting where bright beauty calls, An empire is the prize.

THE SURPRISE.

SAFELY perhaps dull crowds admire ;
But I, alas! am all on fire.

Like him who thought in childhood past
That dire disease which kill'd at last,

I durst have sworn I lov'd before,
And fancy'd all the danger o'er;
Had felt the pangs of jealous pain,
And borne the blasts of cold disdain;
Then reap'd at length the mighty gains,
That full reward of all out pains!

But what was all such grief or joy, That did my heedless ears employ? Mere dreams of feign'd fantastic powers, But the disease of idle hours; Amusement, humour, affectation, Compar'd with this sublimer passion, Whose raptures, bright as those above, Outshine the flames of zeal or love.

Yet think not, fairest, what I sing
Can from a love platonic spring,
That formal softness (false and vain)
Not of the heart, but of the brain.
Thou art indeed above all nature;
But I, a wretched human creature,
Wanting thy gentle generous aid,
Of husband, rivals, friends, afraid!
Amidst all this seraphic fire,
Am almost dying with desire,
With eager wishes, ardent thoughts,
Prone to commit Love's wildest faults!

And (as we are on Sundays told

The lusty patriarch did of old)

Would force a blessing from those charms,

And grasp an angel in my arms.

A DIALOGUE,

SUNG ON THE STAGE, BETWEEN AN ELDERLY SHEPHERD AND A VERY YOUNG NYMPH.

SHEPHERD.

BRIGHT and blooming as the Spring,

Universal love inspiring;

All our swains thy praises sing,
Ever gazing and admiring.

NYMPH.

Praises in so high a strain,

And by such a shepherd sung, Are enough to make me vain,

Yet so harmless and so young.

SHEPHERD.

I should have despair'd among
Rivals that appear so gaily:
But your eyes have made me young
By their smiling on me daily.

NYMPH.

Idle boys admire us blindly,

Are inconstant, wild, and bold And your using me so kindly Is a proof you are not old.