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If to approach a saint with prayer
Unworthy votaries pretend, Above all merit Heaven and you To the fincere are only due.
Long did respect awe my proud aim,
And fear offend my madness cover, Like you it still reprov'd my flame,
And in the friend would hide the lover,
I the too bold truth discover.
SON G XXII.
Τ Η Ε SIL Ε Ν Τ
L O V E R.
BY SIR WALTER RALEIG H.
RONG not, sweet mistress of my heart!
The merit of true passion,
Who sues for no compassion.
Since, if my plaints were not t approve
The conquest of thy beauty,
But fear t exceed my duty.
For, knowing that I fue to serve
A faint of such perfection,
A place in her affection,
I rather chuse to want relief,
Than venture the revealing: Where glory recommends the grief,
Despair disdains the healing.
Thus those desires that boil so high
In any mortal lover,
Discretion them must cover,
Yet when discretion doth bereave
The plaints that I should utter, Then your discretion
may perceive That filence is a suitor.
Silence in love bewrays more woe
Than words, though ne'er fo witty; A beggar that is dumb, you know,
May challenge double pity.
wrong not, dearest to my heart ! My love for secret paffion : He smarteth most that hides his smart,
And sues for no compassion.
OU may cease to complain,
fuit is in vain, All attempts you can make
But augment her disdain ?
She bids you give o'er
While 'tis in your power, For, except her esteem,
She can grant you no more : Her heart has been long since
Assaulted and won, Her truth is as lafting
And firm as the sun; You'll find it more easy
Your passion to cure, Than for ever those fruitless
You may give this advice
To the wretched and wife, But a lover like me
Will those precepts despise ; I scorn to give o'er,
Were it still in my power ;
Yet her I'll adore,
Will fome fympathy bear, "Twill lessen my forrows,
If she takes a share. I'll count it more honour
In dying her slave, Than did her affections
My feadiness crave.
tell her I'll be
Out of hatred to me;
'Cause we get no reward,
When I lost her regard:
More noble shall burn,
Without hopes of return;
Has kindled the flame,
In a counterfeit name.
GOOD REASON FOR LOVING.
BY MR. HENRY CAREY..
AW you the nymph whom I adore,
you the goddess of my heart?
Or can you think I feel no smart?
So many charms around her shine,
Who can the sweet temptation fly!
That I must love her, though I die.
SON G XXV.
BY DR. HENRY KING,
BISHOP OF CHICHESTER.
TELL me no more how fair he is,
ELL me no more how fair she is,
I have no mind to hear
I never shall come near:
And tell me not how fond I am
To tempt my daring fate,
But to repent too late :
I ask no pity, Love, from thee,
Nor will thy justice blame,
The glory of my flame:
SON Ġ XXVI.
HE nymph that undoes me is fair and unkind;
No less than a wonder by nature defign'd; She's the grief of my heart, and the joy of my eye, And the cause of a flame that never can die,