Tho' sighing swains their torments tell, Possession cures the wounded heart, By age your beauty will decay, May Heaven and SYLVIA grant my suit, That DAMON, who can taste the fruit, May gather every flower! GARRICK, WHEN fair SERENA first I knew, But when, with fond officious care, I press'd to breathe my amorous pain, Her lips spoke nought but cold despair, Her eyes shot ice thro' every vein. Thus, in Italia's lovely vales, The sun his genial vigour yields; Reviving heat each sense regales, And plenty crowns the smiling fields. When nearer we approach his ray, High on the Alps' tremendous brow, Surprised, we see pale sun-beams play On everlasting hills of snow. T. SEWARD, M. A. ALL my past life is mine no more, Like transitory dreams given o'er, The time that is to come, is not; PHYLLIS, is only thine. Then Then talk not of inconstancy, False hearts, and broken vows; If I, by miracle, can be This live-long minute true to thee, 'Tis all that heaven allows. ROCHESTER. YES, I'm in love, I feel it now, The pleasing plague stole on me. 'Tis not her face that love creates, For there no Graces revel; 'Tis not her shape, for there the Fates Have rather been uncivil. 'Tis not her air, for sure in that There's nothing more than common, And all her sense is only chat Like any other woman. Her voice, her touch might give the alarm, 'Twas both, perhaps, or neither; In short, 't was that provoking charm Of CELIA altogether. WHITEHEAD. YE little Loves, that round her wait Ah! gently whisper, "STREPHON dies!" If this will not her pity move, And the proud fair disdains to love, Smile, aud And haughty STREPHON Scorns to die." 4 SWAIN, thy hopeless passion smother, In his arms I saw her lying, Panting, kissing, trembling, dying; All she did to you before. "Oh!" said you, "when she deceives me, When that constant creature leaves me, Isis' waters back shall fly, And leave their oozy channels dry." Turn, Turn, ye waters, leave your shore, CUPID, instruct an amorous, swain "What need'st thou tell?" (the God replied) The nymph will quickly find; * The turn in this song is ingeniously copied out of Ovid's epistle from Oenone to Paris : Cum Paris Oenone poterit spirare relicta, Ad fontem Xanthi versa recurret aqua. Xanthe, retro propera, versæque recurrite lymphæ Oenone left, when Paris can survive, The waves of Xanthus shall reverse their course. |