« הקודםהמשך »
Disturbs my dreams, and breaks my rest!
TO A POET OF QUALITY.
1 OF thy judicious muse's sense,
2 Yet she to one must still submit,
LYsANDER talks extremely well;
So good a wife doth Lissy make,
Such virtuous courses doth she take,
And, for her dearest spouse's sake,
Phillis, you boast of perfect health in vain,
TO FORTUNE. Whilst I in prison or in court look down, Nor beg thy favour, nor deserve thy frown, In vain, malicious fortune, hast thou tried, By taking from my state, to quell my pride: Insulting girl! thy present rage abate; And, wouldst thou have me humbled, make me great.
And in the fields seek new delight;
No other objects please my sight.
2 In her alone I find whate'er
Beauties a country landscape grace:
Nor plain so sweet as in her face.
3 Lilies and roses there combine,
More beauteous than in flowery field; Transparent is her skin so fine,
To this each crystal stream must yield. 4 Her voice more sweet than warbling sound,
Though sung by nightingale or lark; Her eyes such lustre dart around,
Compared to them, the sun is dark.
5 Both light and vital heat they give :
Cherished by them, my love takes root; From her kind looks does life receive,
Grows a fair plant, bears flowers and fruit.
6 Such fruit, I ween, did once deceive
The common parent of mankind; And made transgress our mother Eve:
Poison its core, though fair its rind.
7 Yet so delicious is its taste,
I cannot from the bait abstain,
Though I were sure 'twould end in pain.
CHASTE FLORIMEL. i NorI'll endure ten thousand deaths, Ere any
farther 1 'll comply; Oh! sir, no man on earth that breathes
Had ever yet his hand so high!
2 Oh! take your sword, and pierce my heart,
Undaunted see me meet the wound, Oh! will you act a Tarquin's part?
A second Lucrece you have found.
3 Thus to the pressing Corydon,
Poor Florimel, unhappy maid! Fearing by love to be undone,
In broken dying accents said.
4 Delia, who held the conscious door,
Inspired by truth and brandy, smiled, Knowing that, sixteen months before,
Our Lucrece had her second child.
5 And, hark ye! madam, cried the bawd,
None of your flights, your high rope dodging; Be civil here, or march abroad;
Oblige the squire, or quit the lodging.
6 Oh! have I-Florimel went on
Have I then lost my Delia’s aid? Where shall forsaken virtue run,
If by her friend she is betrayed?
7 Oh! curse on empty friendship's name!
Lord, what is all our future view! Then, dear destroyer of my fame, Let my last succour be to you!
8 From Delia's rage, and fortune's frown,
A wretched love-sick maid deliver!
Dear sir, and make me yours for ever.
DOCTORS DIFFER. When Willis? of Ephraim heard Rochestera preach, Thus Bentley said to him, I pr’ythee, dear brother,
1 Bp. of Gloucester. _* Bp. Atterbury.