Mere dreams of feign'd fantastic powers,
But the disease of idle hours;
Amusement, humour, affectation,
Compar'd with this fublimer paffion,
Whole raptures, bright as those above,
Outshine the flames of zeal or love.

Yet think not, fairest, what I fing
Can from a love Platonic fpring;
That formal foftness (false and vain)
Not of the heart, but of the brain.
Thou art indeed above all nature;
But I, a wretched human creature,
Wanting thy gentle generous aid,
Of husband, rivals, friends, afraid!
Amidst all this feraphic fire,
Am almost dying with defire,
With eager wishes, ardent thoughts,
Prone to commit love's wildeft faults!
And (as we are on Sundays told
The lufty patriarch did of old)

Would force a bleffing from thofe charms,
And grasp an angel in my arms.

A DIALOGUE,

SUNG ON THE STAGE,

So the dearest joys of loving,

Which fcarce heaven can go beyond, We'll be every day improving.

SHEPHERD.

You more fair, and I more fond.

NYMPH.

I more fair, and you more fond.

ON ONE WHO DIED DISCOVERING HER KINDNESS.

SOME vex their fouls with jealous pain,
While others figh for cold difdain;
Love's various flaves we daily fee!
Yet happy all, compar'd with me.
Of all mankind, I lov'd the best
A nymph fo far above the rest,
That we outfhin'd the bleft above,
In beauty fhe, and I in love.

And therefore they who could not bear
To be outdone by mortals here,

Among themselves have plac'd her now,
And left me wretched here below.

All other fate I could have borne,
And ev'n endur'd her very fscorn;
But oh! thus all at once to find

SHEPHERD.

BRIGHT and blooming as the spring,

Univerfal love inspiring ;

All our fwains thy praifes fing,
Ever gazing and admiring.

NYMPH.

Praises in fo high a strain,

And by fuch a fhepherd fung, Are enough to make me vain,

Yet fo harmless and fo young.

SHEPHERD.

I fhould have defpair'd among
Rivals that appear fo gaily:
But your eyes have made me young,
By their fmiling on me daily.

NYMPH.

Idle boys admire us blindly,

Are inconftant, wild, and bold; And your using me fo kindly

Is a proof you are not old.

SHEPHERD.

With thy pleafing voice and fashion, With thy humour and thy youth, Cheer my foul, and crown my passion : Oh reward my love and truth.

NYMPH.

With thy careful arts to cover

That which fools will count a fault, Trueft friend as well as lover.

Oh deserve so kind a thought.

Each apart first, and then both together.

Happy we shall lie poffeffing,

Folded in each other's arms, Love and Nature's chiefest blessing In the ftill increasing charms.

What heart can hold! if yet I live, 'Tis but to show how much I grieve.

ON LUCINDA's DEATH.

COME all ye doleful, difmal cares,
That ever haunted guilty mind!
The pangs of love when it defpairs,

And all those stings the jealous find:
Alas! heart-breaking though ye be,
Yet welcome, welcome all to me !
Who now have loft-but oh! how much?
No language, nothing can exprefs,
Except my grief! for she was such,
That praises would but make her less.
Yet who can ever dare to raise
His voice on her, unless to praise?
Free from her fex's smallest faults,
And fair as womankind can be;
Tender and warm as lover's thoughts,
Yet cold to all the world but me.
Of all this nothing now remains,
But only fighs and endless pains!

TO A LADY

RETIRING INTO A MONASTERY.

WHAT breast but your's can hold the double fire
Of fierce devotion, and of fond defire?
Love would fhine forth, were not your zeal fo bright
Whofe glaring flames eclipfe his gentler light :

Less seems the faith that mountains can remove, Than this which triumphs over youth and love. But fhall fome threatening prieft divide us two? What worse than that could all his curfes do? Thus with a fright fome have refign'd their breath, And poorly dy'd, only for fear of death.

Heaven fees our paffions with indulgente ftill, And they who lov'd well, can do nothing ill. While to us nothing but ourselves is dear, Should the world frown, yet what have we to fear? Fame, wealth, and power, thofe high-priz'd gifts of fate,

The low concerns of a lefs happy state,

Are far beneath us: fortune's felf may take
Her aim at us, yet no impreffion make;
Let worldings afk her help, or fear her harms;
We can lie fafe, lock'd in each other's arms,
Like the bleft faints, eternal raptures know,
And flight those storms that vainly rest below.
Yet this, all this you are refolv'd to quit;
I fee my ruin, and I must fubmit ;
But think, O think, before you prove unkind,
How loft a wretch you leave forlorn behind.

Malignant envy, mix'd with hate and fear, Revenge for wrongs too burdenfome to bear, Ev'n zeal itself, from whence all mifchiefs fpring, Have never done fo barbarous a thing.

With fuch a fate the heavens decreed to vex Armida once, though of the fairer fex; Rinaldo fhe had charin'd with fo much art, Hers was his power, his perfon, and his heart: Honour's high thoughts no more his mind could

move;

She footh'd his rage, and turn'd it all to love:
When straight a guft of fierce devotion blows,
And in a moment all her joys o'erthrows:
The poor Armida tears her golden hair,
Matchless till now, for love or for despair.

Who is not mov'd while the fad nymph complains?

Yet you now act what Taffo only feigns:
And after all our vows, our fighs, our tears,
My banish'd forrows, and your conquer'd fears;
So many doubts, fo many dangers, past,
Visions of zeal muft vanquish me at laft.
Thus, in great Homer's war, throughout the
field

Some hero still made all things mortal yield;
But when a god once took the vanquìfh'd side,
The weak prevail'd, and the victorious dy'd.

THE VISION.

Written during a Sea Voyage, when fent to command the Forces for the Relief of Tangier.

WITHIN the filent fhades of foft repofe,
Where fancy's boundlefs ftream for ever flows;
Where the infranchis'd foul at eafe can play,
Tir'd with the toilfome bufinefs of the day;
Where princes gladly reft their weary heads,
And change uncafy thrones for downy beds;
Where feeming joys delude despairing minds;
And where ev'n jealoufy fame quiet finds;

There I and forrow for a while could part,
Sleep clos'd my eyes, and eas'd a fighing heart.
But here too foon a wretched lover found
In deepest griefs that fleep can ne'er be found;
With strange furprise my troubled fancy brings
Odd antick shapes of wild unheard-of things;
Difmal and terrible they all appear,

My foul was hook with an unusual fear.
But as when vifions glad the eyes of faints,
And kind relief attends devout complaints,
Some beauteous angel in bright charms will fine,
And spread a glory round, that's all divine;
Juft fuch a bright and beauteous form appears,
The monsters vanish, and with them my fears.
The fairest shape was then before me brought,
That eyes e'er faw, or fancy ever thought;
How weak are words to fhew fuch excellence,
Which ev'n confounds the foul, as well as fenfe !
And, while our eyes tranfporting pleafure find,
It flops not here, but ftrikes the very mind.
Some angel fpeaks her praife; no human tongue,
But with its utmost art must do her wrong.
The only woman that has power to kill,
And yet is good enough to want the will;
Who needs no foft alluring words repeat
Nor ftudy'd looks of languifhing deceit.

Fantastic beauty, always in the wrong,
Still thinks fome pride muft to its power belong}
An air affected, and an haughty mien,
Something that feems to fay, I would be seen.
But of all womankind this only fhe,

Full of its charms, and from its frailty free,
Deferves fome nobler mufe her fame to raife,
By making the whole fex befide her pyramid of
She, the appear'd the fource of all my joys, [praise
The dearest care that all my thought employs :
Gently the look'd, as when I left her laft,
When first the feiz'd my heart, and held it fast:
When, if my vows, alas! were made too late,
I saw my doom came not from her, but fate.
With pity then she eas'd my raging rain,
And her kind eyes could fcarce from tears refrain:
Why, gentle swain, faid the, why do ye grieve
In words I fhould not hear, much lefs believe?
I gaze on that which is a fault to mind,
And ought to fly the danger which I find;
Of faile mankind though you may be the best,
Ye all have robb'd poor women of their reft.
Ifee your pain, and fee it too with grief,
Because I would, yet muft not, give relief.
Thus, for a husband's fake, as well as yours,
My fcrupulous foul divided pain endures;
Guilty, alas! to both: for thus I do
Too much for him, yet not enough for you.
Give over then, give over, hapless swain,
A paffion moving, but a paffion vain :
Not chance nor time fhall ever change my thought
'Tis better much to die, than do a fault.

Oh, worfe than ever! Is it then my doom
Just to fee heaven, where I must never come?
Your foft compaffion, if not fomething more;
Yet I remain as wretched as before,
The wind indeed is fair, but ah! no fight of fhore.
Farewell, too fcrupulous fair one; oh, farewell;
What torments I endure, no tongue can tell :

Thank heaven, my fate tranfports me now where I, Your martyr, may with cafe and fafety die.

With that I kneel'd, and feiz'd her trembling

hand,

While the impos'd this cruel kind command:
Live, and love on; you will be true, I know,
Eut live then, and come back to tell me fo;
For though I blufh at this laft guilty breath,
I can endure that better than your death.

Tormenting kindnefs! barbarous reprieve!
Condemn'd to die, and yet compell'd to live!

This tender fcene my dream repeated o'er, Juft as it pafs'd in real truth before. Methought I then fell grovelling to the ground, Till, on a fudden rais'd, I wondering found A frange appearance all in taintlefs white; His form gave reverence, and his face delight, Goodness and greatnefs in his eyes were feen, Gentle his look, and affable his mien. A kindly notice of me thus he took : "What mean these flowing eyes, this ghaftly

look:

“These rembling joints, this loofe difhevell'd hair, "And this cold dew, the drops of deep defpair ?"

With grief and wonder firft my fpirits faint,
But thus at last I vented my complaint:
Behold a wretch whom cruel fate has found,
And in the depth of all misfortune drown'd.
There fhines a nymph, to whom an envy'd fwain
Is ty'd in Hymen's ceremonious chain;

But, cloy'd with charms of fuch a marriage-bed,
And fed with manna, yet he longs for bread;
And will, moft husband-like, not only range,
For love perhaps of nothing else but change,
But to inferior beauty proftrate lies,
And courts her love in fcorn of Flavia's eyes.
All this I knew, (the form divine reply'd)
And did but afk to have thy temper try'd,
Which prove fincere. Of both I know the mind;
She is too fcrupulous, and thou too kind:
But fince thy fatal love's for ever fix'd,
Whatever time or abfence come betwixt ;
Since thy fond heart ev'n her difdain prefers
To others' love, I'll fomething foften hers:
Elfe in the fearch of virtue fhe may ftray:
Well-meaning mortals fhould not lofe their way.
She now indeed fins on the fafer fide,
For hearts too loofe are never to be ty'd;
But no extremes are either good or wife,
And in the midft alone true virtue lies.
When marriage-vows unite an equal pair,
"Tis a mere contract made by human care,
By which they both are for convenience ty'd,

The bridegroom yet more strictly than the bride:
For circumstances alter every ill,

And woman meets with moft temptation ftill;
She a forfaken bed must often bear,
While he can never fail to find her there,
And therefore lefs excus'd to range elsewhere.
Yet this fhe ought to fuffer, and fubmit:
But when no longer for each other fit,
If ufage bafe fhall just resentment move,
Or, what is worle, affronts of wandering love;
No obligation after that remains,

Tis mean, not just, to wear a rival's chains.

Yet decency requires the wonted cares Of intereft, children, and remote affairs; But in her love, that dear concern of life, She all the while may be another's wife: [bed, Heaven, that beholds her wrong'd and widow'd Permits a lover in her husband's ftead.

I flung me at his feet, his robes would kifs,
And cry'd-Ev'n our bafe world is just in this;
Amiaft our cenfures, love we gently blame,
And love fometimes preferves a female fame.
What tie less strong can woman's will reftrain?
When honour checks, and confcienee pleads in
vain;

When parents' threats, and friends' perfuafions fail,
When interest and ambition scarce prevail,
To bound that sex when nothing else can move,
They'll live referv'd, to please the man they love!
The fpirit then reply'd to all I said,

She may be kind, but not till thou art dead;
Bewail thy memory, bemoan thy fate:
Then she will love, when 'tis, alas! too late :
Of all thy pains fhe will ho pity have,
Till fad despair has fent thee to the grave.

Amaz'd, I wak'd in haste,

All trembling at my doom;
Dreams oft' repeat adventures past,
And tell our ills to come.

HELEN TO PARIS.

FROM OVID.

Tranflated by the Earl of Mulgrave and Mr. Dryden.

WHEN loofe epiftles violate chafte eyes,
She half confents, who filently denies;
How dares a stranger, with designs so vain,
Marriage and hospitable rights profane ?
Was it for this your fate did fhelter find
From fwelling feas and every faithlefs wind?
(For though a diftant country brought you forth,
Your use here was equal to your worth.)
Does this deserve to be rewarded fo?
Did you come here a stranger, or a foe!
Your partial judgment may perhaps complain,
And think me barbarous for my juft difdain;
Ill-bred then let me be, but not unchafte,
Nor my clear fame with any spot defac'd.
Though in my face there's no affected frown,

Nor in my carriage a feign'd nicenefs fhown,

keep my honour still without a ftain,

You on fuch terms would ne'er have let me go;
Were he like you, we had not parted fo.
Untouch'd the youth reftor'd me to my friends,
And modeft ufage made me fome amends.
'Tis virtue to repent a vicious deed:
Did he repent, that Paris might fucceed?
Sure 'tis fome fate that fets me above wrongs.
Yet ftill exposes me to bufy tongues.

I'll not complain, for who's difpleas'd with love,
If it fincere, difcreet, and constant prove?
But that I fear-not that I think you base,
Or doubt the blooming beauties of my face;
But all your fex is fubject to deceive,
And ours, alas! too willing to believe.
Yet others yield, and love o'ercomes the best-
But why should I not shine above the rest?
Fair Leda's story seems at firft to be
A fit example ready found for me :
But fhe was couzen'd by a borrow'd fhape,
And under harmlefs feathers felt a rape :
If I fhould yield, what reafon could i use?
By what mistake the loving crime excufe?
Her fault was in her powerful lover loft;
But of what Jupiter have I to boast ?
Though you to heroes and to kings fucceed,
Our famous race does no addition need;
And great alliances but ufelefs prove

To one that fprings herfelf from mighty Jove.
Go then, and boast in some less haughty place
Your Phrygian blood, and Priam's ancient race,
Which I would fhow I valued, if I durft;
You are the fifth from Jove, but I the first.
The crown of Troy is powerful, I confefs,
But I have reafon to think ours no lefs.
Your letter, fill'd with promises of all
That men can good, and women pleasant call,
Gives expectation fuch an ample field
As would move goddeffes themselves to yield :
But, if I e'er offend great Juno's laws,
Yourself fhall be the dear, the only caufe;
Either my honour I'll to death maintain,
Or follow you without mean thoughts of gain;
Not that fo fair a present I despise;

We like the gift, when we the giver prize ;.
But 'tis your love moves me, which niade you take
Such pains, and run such hazards for my fake.
I have perceiv'd, (though I diffembled too)
A thousand things that love has made you do:
Your eager eyes would almost dazzle mine,
In which (wild man!) your wanton thoughts
would shine.

Sometimes you'd figh, fometimes diforder'd ftand,
And with unusual ardour press my hand Ni
Contrive just after me to take the glass,
Nor would you let the leaft occafion pafs;
Which oft I fear'd I did not mind alone,
And blushing fat for things which you have done;
Then murmur'd to myfelf, He'll for my fake
Do any thing, I hope 'twas no mistake.
Oft have I read within this pleasant grove,
Under my name, these charming words, I love,
I, frowning, feem'd not to believe your flame,
But now, alas! am come to write the fame.
If I were capable to do amiss,

could not but be sensible of this.

A

For oh! your face has fuch peculiar charms,
That who can hold from flying to your arms!
But what I ne'er can have without offence,
May fome bleft maid poffefs with innocence.
Pleasure may tempt, but virtue more should move;
Oh! learn of me to want the thing you love.
What you defire is fought by all mankind;
As you have eyes, fo others are not blind:
Like you they fee, like you my charms adore;
They with not lefs, but you dare venture more.
Oh! had you then upon our coafts been brought,
My virgin love when thousand rivals fought,
You had I feen, you should have had my voice,
Nor could my husband justly blame my choice.
For both our hopes, alas! you came too late,
Another now is master of my fate;
More to my wish I could have liv'd with you,
And yet my prefent lot can undergo.
Ceafe to folicit a weak woman's will,
And urge not her you love to so much ill;
But let me live contented as I may,
And make not my unípotted fame your prey:
Some right your claim, fince naked to your eyes
Three goddeffes difputed beauty's prize:
One offer'd valour, t'other crowns; but fhe
Obtain'd her caufe, who fmiling promis'd me.
But, first, I am not of belief fo light, [fight:
To think fuch nymphs would fhew you fuch a
Yet, granting this, the other part is feign'd,
A bribe fo mean your fentence had not gain'd.
With partial eyes I fhould myfelf regard,
To think that Venus made me her reward;
I humbly am content with human praife,
A goddefs's applaufe would envy raife;}
But be it as you fay; for 'tis confeit,
The men who flatter highest please us beft:
That I fufpect it ought not to displease,
For miracles are not believ'd with eafe.
One joy I have, that I had Venus' voice;
A greater yet, that you confirm'd her choice;
That proffer'd laurels, promis'd fovereignty,
Juno and Pallas you contemn'd for me.
Am I your empire then, and your renown?
What heart of rock but muft by this be won?
And yet bear witnefs, O ye powers above,
How rude I am in all the arts of love!
My hand is yet untaught to write to men,
This is th' effay of my unpractis'd pen;
Happy thofe nymphs, whom ufe has perfect made,
I think all crime, and tremble at a fhade:
Ev'n while I write, my fearful confcious eyes
Look often back, mifdoubting a surprise;
For now the rumour spreads among the crowd,
At court in whifpers, but in town aloud.
Diffemble you, whate'er you hear them fay:
To leave off loving were your better way;
Yet, if you will diffemble it, you may.
Love fecretly: the abfence of my lord
More freedom gives, but does not all afford:
Long is his journey, long will be his stay,
Call'd by affairs of confequence away.
To go or not, when unrefolv'd he flood,
I bid him make what fwift return he could:
Then kiffing me, he faid, I recommend
All to thy care, But moft my Trojan friend.