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Yet no new suff'rings can prepare
A higher praise to crown thee ;
My second will dethrone thee.
Lovers will doubt thou canst entice
No other for thy fuel ;
Think thee both poor and cruel.
, fond youth, thy tears give o'er;
What more, alas! can FLAVIA do? Thy truth I own, thy fate deplore :
All are not happy that are true.
Suppress those fighs, and weep no more ;
Should heav'n and earth with thee combine, "Twere all in vain; since any pow'r, To crown thy love, muft alter mine.
But, if revenge can ease thy pain,
I'll footh the ills I cannot cure, Tell that I drag a hopeless chain,
And all that I inflict, endure.
HE merchant to secure his treasure
Conveys it in a borrow'd name; Euphelia serves to grace my measure,
But Chloe is my real flame.
My foftest verse, my darling lyre
Upon EUPHELIA's toilet lay, When CHLOE noted her desire
That I should fing, that I should play.
My lyre I tune, my voice I raise,
But with my numbers mix my fighs ; And whilft I fing Euphelia's praise,
I fix my foul on Chloe's eyes.
Fair Chlo! blush'd ; EUPHELIA frown'd;
I sung and gaz’d, I play'd and trembled ;
CELIA hoard thy charms no more, ,
Beauty's like the miser's treasure ; Still the vain possessor's poor,
What are riches without pleasure ? Endless pains the miser takes
To increase his heaps of money, Lab'ring bees his pattern makes
Yet he fears to taste his honey.
Views with aching eyes his store,
Trembling left he chance to lose it, Pining still for want of more,
Tho' the wretch wants power to use it.
Spends her days, her charms improving,
Views with pride her shape and face,
Fancying still fhe's under twenty ; Age brings wrinkles on apace,
While she starves with all her plenty. Soon or late they both will find
Time their idol from them sever, He must leave his gold behind,
Lock'd within his grave for ever.
Celia's fate will still be worse,
When her fading charms deceive her, Vain defire will be her curse
When no mortal will relieve her. Celia hoard thy charms no more,
Beauty's like the miser's treasure, Taste a little of thy store ;
What is beauty without pleasure ?
S the snow in vallies lying,
Phoebus his warm beams applying,
So the beauties, so the graces
At approaching age decay.
As a tyrant when degraded
By the slaves he once contrould ;
When her charms are growing old.
Melancholic looks and whining,
Are th’ effects your rigours move;
Are the blest effects of love.
Fair ones, while your beauty's blooming Use your time, left age resuming
What your youth profusely lends, You are robb'd of all your glories, And condemn'd to tell old stories
To your unbelieving friends,