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I heard the force of sprightly wit,
With strength of reason fir'd, i Thoughts that a Muse's tongue might fit
And each bright turn admir’d. Thus void of care my hours have flown, For still I found my heart my own.
I listen’d to the Syren's voice .
By magic art improv’d:
The song alone I lov’d.
But now, oh Love ! I own thy reign,
I find thee in my heart;
'Twas Chloe threw the dart. ,, Chloe her utmost power has shewng se" My heart is now no more my own.
I saw, I heard, and felt the flame,
For Chloe smild and spoke ;
Or else my heart is broke! ,
[Earl of Dorser.]
To all you ladies now at land,*
How hard it is to write :
For though the Muses should prove kind,
And fill our empty brain;
To wave the azure main,
Then if we write not by each post,
Think not we are unkind; :
By Dutchmen or the wind :
* Written at sea, in the first Dutch war, 1665, the night hefore an engagement.
The king with wonder and surprise
Will swear the seas grow bold, Because the tides will higher rise
Than ere they did of old ; But let him know it is our tears
Bring floods of grief to Whitehall stairs. - With a fa, &c.
Should foggy Opdam chance to know
Our sad and dismal story; .
And quit their post at Goree:
Let wind and weather do its worst,
Be you to us but kind;
No sorrow we shall find :
We throw a merry main ;
But why should we in vain
But now our fears tempestuous grow,
And cast our hopes away;
Sit careless at a play :
When any mournful tune you hear,
That dies in ev'ry note;
For being so remote: .
In justice you cannot refuse,
To think of our distress,
Our certain happiness;
And likewise all our fears ;
Some pity for our tears :
You tell me I'm handsome, I know not how true,
If beauty from virtue receive no supply,
spring. For charms such as these then, your praises give
o'er, To love me for life, you must love me for more.
Then talk to me not of a shape or an air,