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Si lapsa in vitium Virgo pulcherrima amantis

Sit serò amissam flere coacta fidem,
Dic, quibus illa modis possit mulcere dolorem,

Quâ labem, infelix, eluat arte mali ?

Infelix ! quâ sola gravem lenire dolorem,

Effugere opprobrium, dissimulare nefas, Flectere perjuri malefidum pectus amantis, Et lacerare potest, ars ea sola-mori.

H. H. Song from the Duenna.-SHERIDAN.

Had I a heart for falsehood fram'd,

I ne'er could injure you, For tho' your tongue no promise claim'd,

Your charms would make me true.

Then, Lady, dread not here deceit,

Nor fear to suffer wrong,
For friends in all the aged you'll meet,

And lovers in the young.

And when they find that you have bless'd

Another with your heart, They'll bid aspiring passion rest,

And act a brother's part.

Si violare fidem mihi cor proclivius esset,

Crede mihi, me non posse nocere tibi. Quanquam etenim tua verba fidem me nulla rogâssent,

Fecissent fidum forma decusque tuum.

Ergo pone metus, et fraudem parce vereri,

Neu timeas fictos in tua damna dolos.: Cunctos nempe senes inter numerabis amicos,

Nec juvenis, qui te non amet, ullus erit.

Et cum te socio tandem devinxeris uni,

Protenùs ardentes, cætera turba, proci, Demittent æstum stimulosque Cupidinis omnes, Fraternæque dabunt pignora amicitiæ.

Η. Η.

Pope's Epistle to Gay, who had congratulated him on having finished his

house and gardens at Twickenham.

Ah friend ! 'tis true, this truth yon lovers know,
In vain my structures rise, my gardens grow;
In vain fair Thames reflects the double scenes
Of hanging mountains, and of sloping greens;
Joy lives not here-to happier seats it flies,
And only dwells where Wortley casts her eyes.
What are the gay parterre, the checquered shade,
The morning bower, the evening colonnade,
But soft recesses for uneasy minds,
To sigh unheard in to the passing winds ?
So the struck deer, in some sequestered part,
Lies down to die-the arrow at his heart;
He stretch'd unseen, in coverts hid from day,
Bleeds drop by drop, and pants his life away!

Ah! nam quid sit amor vos scitis, dicite amantes,

Quam, procùl a dominâ, gaudia nulla juvant. Surgat ad astra domus, simuletque palatia, frustrà,

Hesperidum, frustrà, suavior hortus erit. Frustrà, propter aquas, colles et amoena vireta

In vitreo Thamesis duplicat alta sinu. Non hic lætitiæ locus est, ea sola colenda

Quæ beat aspectu cara Maria suo. Occiduo quid enim valuit mihi porticus, aut quid

Hortus et umbriferum sole oriente nemus? Quid nisi, quod tacito mens indulgere dolori

Saucia possit in his, et sine teste queri? Sic modò lethali transfixus arundine cervus

Sylvarum latebras, et loca tecta petit: Ille inter gemitus miser et suspiria, tarda Guttatìm effuso sanguine morte perit.

H. H.

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