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Oh! since the thing we beg's a toy,,

By lovers priz'd alone,
Why cannot women grant the joy

Before our love is gone?

If the quick spirit of your eye,
Now languish, and anon must die;
If every sweet and every grace
Must fly from that forsaken face;
Then, Celia, let us reap our joys,
Ere time such goodly fruit destroys.

Or if that golden fleece must grow
For ever free from aged snow;
If those bright suns must know no shade,
Nor your fresh beauty ever fade ;
Then, Celia, fear not to bestow
What still being gather'd, still must grow.

Thus either time his sickle brings
In vain, or else in vain his wings,

LATE when love I seem'd to slight,
Phyllis smild, as well she might !

Now, said she, our throne may tremble,
Men our province now invade,
Men take up our royal trade,

Men, ev'n men, do now dissemble, In the dust our empire's laid,

Tutor’d by the wise and grave,
Loath I was to be a slave;

Mistress sounded arbitrary;
So I chose to hide my flame,
Friendship, a discreeter name;

But she scorns one jot to vary, She will love, or nothing, claim.

Be a lover, or pretend,
Rather than the warmest friend ;

Friendship of another kind is,
Swedish coin of gross allay,
A cart-load will scarce defray ?

Love, one grain is worth the Indies,
Only love is current pay.

Ah! Chloris, could I now but sit

As unconcern'd as when
Your infant beauty could beget

No happiness nor pain !
When I this dawning did admire,

And prais’d the coming day,
I little thought that rising fire

Would take my rest away.

Your charms in harmless childhood lay

As metals in a mine;
Age from no face takes more away

Than youth conceal'd in thine :
But as your charms insensibly

To their perfection prest,
So love, as unperceiv’d, did fly,

And center'd in my breast.

My passion with your beauty grew,

While Cupid, at my heart,
Still as his mother favour'd you,
· Threw a new flaming dart :
Each gloried in their wanton part;

To make a beauty, she
Employ'd the utmost of her art;

To make a lover, he.

The Graces and the wand'ring Loves

Are Aed to distant plains,
To chase the fawns, or in deep groves

To wound admiring swains.
With their bright mistress there they stray,

Who turns her careless eyes
From daily triumphs; yet, each day,
Beholds new triumphs in her way,

And conquers while she flies.

But see! implor'd by moving prayers,

To change the lover's pain,
Venus her harness'd doves prepares, .

And brings the fair again.
Proud mortals, who this maid pursue,

Think you, she'll e'er resign?
Cease, fools, your wishes to renew,
Till she grows flesh and blood, like you ;

Or you, like her, divine.


Say, lovely dream, where could'st thou find

Shadows to counterfeit that face?

Colours of this glorious kind,
Come not from any mortal place.

In heaven itself thou sure wert drest

With that angel-like disguise ;

Thus deluded am I blest,
And see my joy with closed eyes.

But ah ! this image is too kind

To be other than a dream !

Cruel Sacharissa's mind
Never put on that sweet extreme.

Fair dream, if thou intend'st me grace,

Change that heavenly face of thine;

Paint despis'd love in thy face, And make it to appear like mine.

Pale, wan, and meagre let it look,
With a pity-moving shape,

Such as wander by the brook
Of Lethe; or from graves escape.

Then to that matchless nymph appear,

In whose shape thou shinest so,

Softly in her sleeping ear,
With humble words express my woe.

Perhaps from greatness, state, and pride,

Thus surprised she may fall :

Sleep does disproportion hide. And death resembling equals all.

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