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F Cupid once the mind poffefs,
All low affections cease;
No tumult break the peace.
And call profusion mean.
Then let my swain my love return,
And equal raptures feel;
As Fortune winds her wheel.
No loss can make me poor.
• In the entertainment of The Rehearsal, or Bayes in petticoats. See p. 29.
BY MRS. WH AR TO N*.
OW hardly I conceal’d my tears,
How oft did I complain,
Told me I lov'd in vain.
But now my joys as wild are grown,
And hard to be conceal'd ;
But joy will be reveal'd.
I tell it to the bleating flocks,
To every stream and tree,
For echoing back to me.
Thus you may see with how much joy
We want, we wish, believe ;
But easy to deceive.
* First wife of that notorious Machiavelian, Thomas (afterwards) mare quis of Wharton,
OAST not, mistaken swain, thy art
To please my partial eyes;
Another may despise.
Thy face is to my humour made,
Another it may fright;
In oddness I delight.
Vain youth, to your confufion know,
'Tis to my loves excess You all
fancied beauties owe, Which fade as that
For your own sake, if not for mine,
You should preserve my fire,
When I no more admire.
By me indeed you are allow'd
Whom love has render'd blind.
CHLOE TO STRE PHO N.
BY SOAME JEN YNS ESQ.
100 plain, dear youth, these tell-tale eyes
My heart your own declare ; But for heav'ns fake, let it suffice,
You reign triumphant there.
power to try, Nor farther urge your sway ; Press not for what I must deny,
For fear I should obey.
a maid undo? Whose greatest failing is her love,
And that her love for you.
Say would you use that very pow'r
You from her fondness claim, To ruin, in one fatal hour,
A life of spotless fame?
Ah! cease, my dear, to do an ill,
Because perhaps you may ; But rather try your utmoft skill,
To save me, than betray.
Be you yourself my virtues guard,
Defend, and not pursue,
To strive with love and you.
BY MRS. BE H N*,
H false Amyntas ! can that hour
So foon forgotten be, When first I yielded up my power,
To be betray'd by thee?
God knows with how much innocence
I did my heart refign,
thee what was mine.
I had not one reserve in store,
But at thy feet I laid
Though now thy trophies made.
Thy eyes in silence told their tale
Of love in such a way, That 'twas as easy to prevail,
As after to betray.
* In the comedy of The Dutch Lover,