In vain, fond youth, thy tears give o’er ;
What moré, alas! can Flavia do?
Thy truth I own, thy fate deplore:
All are not happy that are true.

Suppress those sighs, and weep no more; Should heav'n and earth with thee combine, "Twere all in vain; since any pow'r,

To crown thy love, must alter mine.

But, if revenge can ease thy pain,
I'll sooth the ills I cannot cure,
Tell that I drag a hopeless chain,
And all that I inflict, endure.

[PRIOR.]

THE merchant to secure his treasure
Conveys it in a borrow'd name;
Euphelia serves to grace my measure,
But Chloe is my real flame.

My softest verse, my darling lyre
Upon Euphelia's toilet lay,

When Chloe noted her desire

That I should sing, that I should play.

My lyre I tune, my voice I raise,

But with my numbers mix my sighs;
And whilst I sing Euphelia's praise,
I fix my soul on Chloe's eyes.

Fair Chloe blush'd; Euphelia frown'd;
I sung and gaz'd, I play'd and trembled;
And Venus to the loves around

Remark'd how ill we all dissembled.

CELIA, hoard thy charms no more,
Beauty's like the miser's treasure ;
Still the vain possessor's poor,
What are riches without pleasure?
Endless pains the miser takes

To increase his heaps of money,
Lab'ring bees his pattern makes,
Yet he fears to taste his honey.

Views with aching eyes his store,
Trembling lest he chance to lose it,
Pining still for want of more,

Tho' the wretch wants power to use it. Celia thus with endless arts

Spends her days, her charms improving, Lab'ring still to conquer hearts,

Yet ne'er tastes the sweets of loving.

Views with pride her shape and face,
Fancying still she's under twenty;
Age brings wrinkles on apace,

While she starves with all her plenty.
Soon or late they both will find
Time their idol from them sever,

He must leave his gold behind,
Lock'd within his grave for ever.

Celia's fate will still be worse,

When her fading charms deceive her,

Vain desire will be her curse

When no mortal will relieve her.

Celia hoard thy charms no more,

Beauty's like the miser's treasure, Taste a little of thy store;

What is beauty without pleasure?

As the snow in vallies lying,
Phoebus his warm beams applying,
Soon dissolves and runs away;
So the beauties, so the graces
Of the most bewitching faces.
At approaching age decay.

As a tyrant when degraded
Is despis'd, and is upbraided

By the slaves he once controll'd; So the nymph if none could move her Is contemn'd by every lover

When her charms are growing old.

Melancholic looks and whining,
Grieving, quarrelling and pining
Are th' effects your rigours move;
Soft caresses, amorous glances,
Melting sighs, transporting trances,
Are the blest effects of love.

Fair ones, while your beauty's blooming Use your time, lest age resuming

What your youth profusely lends, You are robb'd of all your glories, And condemn'd to tell old stories

To your unbelieving friends.

[WALSH.]

CELIA, too late

you

would repent;

The off'ring all your store

Is now but like a pardon sent

To one that's dead before.

While at the first you cruel prov❜d,
And grant the bliss too late,
You hinder'd me of one I lov'd
To give me one I hate.

I thought you innocent as fair
When first my court I made,
But when your falsehoods plain appear
My love no longer staid.

Your bounty of those favours shown

Whose worth you first deface,

Is melting valued medals down,
And giving us the brass.