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All I of Venus ask, is this;

No more to let us join :
But grant me here the flattering bliss,
To die, and think

you mine.

SONG

XLV.

BY WILLIAM WALSH, ESQ.

OF

F all the torments, all the cares,

With which our lives are curft;
Of all the plagues a lover bears,

Sure rivals are the worst !
By partners in each other kind,

Amictions easier grow ;
In love alone we hate to find

Companions of our woe,

Sylvia, for all the pangs you see

Are lab'ring in my breast;
I beg not you would favour me,

Would you but flight the rest!
How great foe'er your rigours are,

With them alone I'll cope ;
I can endure my own despair,

But not anothers hope.

SONG

SONG XLVI.

TO CHLOE

JE ALOUS.

YES

BY MATHEW PRIOR ESQ.

(" THE AUTHOR SICK.")
E S, fairest proof of beautys pow'r,

Dear idol of my panting heart,
Nature points this my fatal hour :

And I have liv'd; and we must part. While now I take

my

lait adieu, Heave thou no figh nor shed a tears Left yet my half-clos'd eye may view

On earth an object worth its care.

From jealousys tormenting strife

For ever be thy bosom freed: That nothing may disturb thy life,

Content l'haften to the dead.

Yet when some better-fated youth

Shall with his am'rous parly move thee; Reflect one moment on his truth

Who dying thus, persists to love thee,

SONG XLVII.

LO V E

AND JE A LOUŞ Y.

BY MR. HENRY CAREY.

HOUGH cruel

you

seem to my pain, And hate me

because I am true, Yet Phillis ! you love a false swain, Who has other nymphs in his view : D 4

Enjoyment's

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Those lips which he touches in hafte,

To them I for ever could grow ;
Still clinging around that dear waist,

Which he spans as beside him you go.
That arm, like a lily fo white,

Which over his shoulders you lay,
My bosom could warm it all night,

My lips they could press it all day.

Were I like a monarch to reign,

Were graces my subjects to be,
I'd leave them and fly to the plain

To dwell in a cottage with thee,
But if I must feel

your

disdain, If tears cannot cruelty drown, Oh let me not live in this pain ;

But give me my death in a frown!

SONG XLVIII.

WHAT fury does difturb my reft ?

What hell is this within my breast ?
Now I abhor, and now I love ;
And cach an equal torment prove.

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I fee Celindas cruelty,
I fee she loves all men but me;
I see her falsehood, see her pride,
I see ten thousand faults beside ;
I see the sticks at nought that's ill ;
Yet, oh ye powers ! I love her still.
Others on precipices run,
Which, blind with love, they cannot shun,
I see my danger, fee my ruin,
Yet seek, yet court my own undoing :
And each new reason I explore
To hate her, makes me love her more.

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SONG XLIX.

OF J E A LO U S Y.

BY MR. DR Y DE N*.

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HAT state of life can be so blest,

As love that warms a lovers breaft?
Two souls in one; the same desire
To grant the bliss and to require :
But if in heaven a hell we find,
'Tis all from thee,

Jealousy!
'Tis all from thee,
O Jealousy!
Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy,
Thou tyrant of the mind.

* In the tragi-comedy of Love triumphant.

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All other ills, though sharp they prove,
Serve to refine and perfect love :
In absence, or unkind disdain,
Sweet hope relieves the lovers pain :
But, ah, no cure but death we find
To set us free
From Jealousy:

Jealousy !
Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy,
Thou tyrant of the mind.

False in thy glass all objects are,
Some set too near, and some too far:
Thou art the fire of endless night,
The fire that burns, and gives no light.
All torments of the damn'd we find
In only thee,
O Jealousy!
Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy,
Thou tyrant of the mind.

SONG L.

BY EDMUND WALLER ESQ.

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AY, lovely dream, where could'st thou find

Shades to counterfeit that face? Colours of this glorious kind

Come not from any mortal place.

In

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