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How should we then secure our hearts;

Loves pow'r we all must feel;
Who thus can, by strange magic arts,

In ice his flame conceal.

*Tis thou alone, fair Julia, know,

Canít quench my fierce desire;
But not with water, ice, or snow,

But with an equal fire.

SONG X.

BY SIR JOHN VAN BRUGH*.

I

Smile at Love, and all his arts,

The charming Cynthia cried ;
Take heed, for Love has piercing darts,

A wounded swain replied:

Once free, and blest, as you are now,

I trifled with his charms,
I pointed at his little bow,

And sported with his arms :

'Till urg'd too far-Revenge, he cries !

A fatal shaft he drew,
Which took its passage through your eyes,

And to my heart it flew :

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To tear it thence I tried in vain,

To strive, I quickly found, Was only to increase the pain,

And mortify the wound;

Too well, alas ! I fear, you

know What anguish I endure, Since what your eyes alone could do,

Your heart alone can cure.

SONG XI.

BY THE EARL OF ROCHESTER,

WHI

HILST on those lovely looks I gaze,

To see a wretch pursuing, In raptures

of a bleft amaze,
His pleasing happy ruin;
'Tis not for pity that I move;

His fate is too aspiring,
Whose heart, broke with a load of love,

Dies wishing and admiring.

But if this murder you'd forego,

Your flave from death removing, Let me your art of charming know,

Or learn you mine of loving.

But

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Then if no gentle glance return

A silent leave to speak,
My heart, which would for ever burn,

Must sigh, alas! and break.

o.

SONG

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M

Y love was fickle once and changing,

Nor c'er would settle in my heart; From beauty ftill to beauty ranging, In every

face I found a dart.

An eye

'Twas first a charming shape enslav'd me,

then gave the fatal stroke: Till by her wit Corinna sav’d me,

And all my former fetters broke.

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WITA

ITH women I have pass’d my days,

And ev'ry minute bless'd;
No secret figh contrould my ease,

No wish disturb’d my rest.
Thus, void of care, my hours have flown,
For still I found

my own.

my heart

I often prais’d a handsome face,

Extoll'd a sparkling eye,
And safe,'examin'd ev'ry grace,

Without a real sigh.
Thus, void of care, my hours have flown,
For ftill I found

my

heart

my own.

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