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On his wings would I soar up to fame :

'Tis but just, if he scorch

My breast with his torch,
In my wit too he kindle a flame.

RECITATIVE, Trophies to Chastity let others raise, In notes as cold as the dull thing they praise : To rage like mine inore sprightly themes belong: Gay youth inspires, and beauty claims my song; Me all the little Loves and Graces own; For I was born to worship them alone.


Tell not me the joys that wait
On him that's rich, on him that's great :
Wealth and wisdom I despise ;
Cares surround the rich and wise.
No, no, let love, let life be mine;
Bring me women, bring me wine;
Speed the dancing hours away,
And mind not what the grave ones say ;
Speed and gild them as they fly
With love and freedom, wit and joy ;
Bus’ness, title, pomp, and state,
Give 'em to the fools I hate.





Hail, sacred Muse, and vocal shell,
That wont the joys of Love to tell !
Now turn your songs to mournful strains,
My joys are fled, my Love remains.
Wanton Cupid, idle toyer,
Pleasing tyrant, soft destroyer,
Do not.thus my heart control;
Phaon flies me far away,
Reason does renounce thy sway,
Yet contented I obey,

Ever raging,

Past assuaging,
Love possesses all my soul.

Beneath this sad and silent gloom
I waste my beauty, youth, and bloom :
But not the shades that banish day
Drive Phaon's brighter form away ;

A youth so shap'd, with such a mien,
A front like that of Jove serene,
With sparkling eyes, and flowing hair,
And wit that ever charms the fair,
The spiteful Gods contriv'd for ruin,
And deck'd him thus for my undoing :
o the soft transporting pleasure,
When we yield our virgin treasure ;
When we meet the joyous lover,
And an equal flame discover.
Nothing now to love denying,
Blushing, panting, melting, dying.
O the soft transporting bliss !
What is life-or fame to this?
I rave, I rave, unhappy maid;
That name my folly does upbraid :
To shame, remorse, and death betray’d,
What Power, what God can send relief?
Sicilian virgins, shun the arts
Whence my misfortunes rise :
With ease my Phaon conquers hearts,
With ease neglects the prize.
I dream, or in some rival's arms,
Forgetful of my rifled charms,
1 behold the perjur'd boy :

Anguish waste,
Lightning blast,
Heaven forsake her,
Hello'ertake her,
Ere she tastes the rising joy!

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No; let her triumph, let her prize
The faithless wretch, whom I despise ;
By his ingratitude set free,
I'll reap the sweet of liberty.
Mighty hero, could you leave me?
Did my charmer hope to grieve me?
'Thuis be all thy wishes blasted,
For no longer I adore thee;
Had thy love one moment lasted,
Happy I had chang'd before thee.
Wander, Phaon : so will I,

Roving, ranging,
Ever changing,
Gay and airy,
Form'd to vary ;
], to pain you,

Will disdain you,
And to nobler conquest fly.
Resentment, pride, and glowing shame,
Once guardians of my spotless fame,
By conquering Love though banish'd hence,
Again vouchafe me your defence,
Assert an empire late your own,
And shake the tyrant*on his throne :
Support me, aid me, for I feel
My fainting resolution reel.
Doubt, thou certain state of sorrow,
We lose to-day, to wait to-morrow;
He may return, my Phaon may;
I cheat myself, why does he stay?

Shall Sappho, like a helpless maid, Pine to death, of death afraid ? I've tried all female arts in vain, Dissembled scorn and false disdain ; For oh! with real grief opprest, I burn, and tempests shake my breast. O what torments wound my heart! Gentle Death, in pity take me, And perform thy grateful duty : Since my Phaon does forsake me, Tothy arms I yield my beauty, Kinder then than Cupid's dart.

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