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Yet no new suff'rings can prepare

A higher praise to crown thee ;
Tho' my first death proclaim thee fair,

My second will dethrone thee.

Lovers will doubt thou canst entice

No other for thy fuel ;
And if thou burn one victim twice,

Think thee both poor and cruel.

I Nwain

, 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.

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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 ;
And Venus to the loves around
Remark'd how ill we all difsembled.


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.
CELIA thus with endless arts

Spends her days, her charms improving,
Lab'ring still to conquer hearts,
Yet ne'er taftes the fweets of loving.


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,
Soon diffolves and runs away ;


So the beauties, so the graces
Of the most bewitching faces

At approaching age decay.

As a tyrant when degraded
Is despis'd and is upbraided

By the slaves he once contrould ;
So the nymph if none could move her
Is contemn'd by every lover

When her charms are growing old.

Melancholic looks and whining,
Grieving, quarreling and pining

Are th’ effects your rigours move;
Soft caresses, amorous glances,
Melting fighs, transporting trances,

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,

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