I'll not accufe you, fince my fate is such;
I please too little, and I love too much.

Strephon, no more, the blushing Delia faid,
Excufe the conduct of a timorons maid;
Now I'm convinc'd your love's fublime and true,
Such as I always wifh'd to find in you.
Each kind expreffion, every tender thought,
A mighty transport in my bosom wrought:
And though in fecret I your flame approv'd,
I figh'd and griev'd, but durft not own I lov'd.
Though now-O Strephon be so kind to guess
What fhame will not allow me to confefs.

The youth, encompafs'd with a joy so bright, Had hardly strength to bear the vaft delight. By too fublime an ecftafy poffeft,

He trembled, gaz'd, and clafp'd her to his breaft; Ador'd the nymph that did his pain remove, Yow'd endless truth and everlasting love.

STREPHON'S LOVE FOR DELIA JUSTIFIED.

In an Epifle to Celadon.

ALL men have follies, which they blindly trace Through the dark turnings of a dubious maze: But happy thofe, who, by a prudent care, Retreat betimes from the fallacious fnare.

The eldest fons of Wildom were not free From the fame failure you condenin in me : They lov'd, and, by that glorious paffion led, Forgot what Plato and themselves had faid. Love triumph'd o'er those dull, pedantic rules, They had collected from the wrangling schools; And made them to his noble fway fubmit, In spite of all their learning, art, and wit. Their grave, ftarch'd morals then unufeful prov'd: Thefe dufty characters he foon remov'd; For, when his shining squadrons came in view, 'Their boafted reafon murmur'd, and withdrew; Unable to oppose their mighty force With phlegmatic refolves, and dry difcourfe.

If, as the wifeft of the wife have err'd,
I go aftray, and am condemn'd unheard,
My faults you too feverely reprehend,
More like a rigid cenfor than a friend.
Love is the monarch paflion of the mind,
Knows no fuperior, by no laws confin'd,
But triumphs fill, impatient of controul,
O'er all the proud endowments of the foul.

You own'd my Delia, friend, divinely fair,
When in the buu her native beautics were;
Your praife did then her early charms confefs,
Yet you'd perfuade me to adore her lefs.
You but the non-age of her beauty faw,
But might from thence fublime ideas draw,
And what the is, by what fhe was, conclude;
For now the governs thofe the then fubdu'd.

Her afpect noble and mature is grown,
And every charm in its full vigour known.
There we may wondering view, diftinctly writ,
The lines of goodness, and the marks of wit:

Each feature, emolous of pleafing most,
Does justly fome peculiar fweetness boat:
And her compofure's of fo fine a frame,
Pride cannot hope to mend, nor Envy blame.

When the immortal Beauties of the skies
Contended naked for the golden prize,
The apple had not fall'n to Venus' fhare,
Had I been Paris, and my Delia there;
In whom alone we all their graces find,
The moving gaiety of Venus, join'd
With Juno's afpect, and Minerva's mind.
View both thofe nymphs whom other fwala
adore,

You'll value charming Delia fill the more.
Dorinda's mien 's majeftic, but her mind
Is to revenge and peevishness inclin'd:
Myrtilla' fair; and yet Myrtilla's proud: -
Chloe has wit; but noify, vain, and loud:
Melania doats upon the fillieft things;
And yet Melania like an angel fings.
But in my Delia all endowments meet,
All that is juit, agreeable, or fweet;
All that can praise and admiration move,
All that the wifeft and the braveft love.

In all difcourfes the 's appofite and gay,
And ne'er wants fomething pertinent to say;
For, if the fubject 's of a ferions kind,
Her thoughts are manly, and her fenfe refin'd;
But if divertive, her expreflion 's fit,
Good language, join'd with inoffentive wit;
So cautious always, that the ne'er affords
An idle thought the charity of words.
The vices common to her fex can find
No room, ev'n in the suburbs of her mind;
Concluding wifely the 's in danger still,
From the mere neighbourhood of industrious
Therefore at diftance keeps the fabtle foe,
Whofe near approach would formidable grow;
While the unwary virgin is undone,
And meets the mifery which the ought to fham.
Her wit is penetrating, clear, and gay;
But let true judgment and right reafon fway;
Modeftly bold, and quick to apprehend;
Prompt in replies, but cautious to offend.
Her darts are keen, but level'd with fuch care,
They ne'er fall fhort, and seldom fly too far:
For when the rallies, 'tis with so much art,
We blufh with pleasure, and with rapture faar.
O, Celadon! you would my flame aj prove,
Did you but hear her talk of love.
That tender paffion to her fancy brings
The prettieft notions, and the foftest things;
Which are by her fo movingly expreft,
They fill with ecftafy my throbbing breaft.
'I'is then the charms of eloquence impart
Their native glories unimprov'd by art:
By what she says I measure things above,
And guess the language of feraphic love.

To the cool bofom of a peaceful fhade, By fome wild beech or lofty poplar made, When evening comes, we fecretly repair To breathe in private, and unbend our care: And while our flocks in fruitful paftures feed, Some well-defign'd, inftructive poem rezd ;

Where useful morals, with foft numbers join'd,
At once delight and cultivate the mind :
Which are by her to more perfection brought, i
By wife remarks upon the poet's thought;
So well the knows the stamp of eloquence,
The empty found of words from folid fenfe.
The florid fuftian of a rhyming spark,
Whofe random arrow ne'er comes near the mark,
Can't on her judgment be impos'd, and pafs
For ftandard gold, when 'tis but gilded brass.
Oft in the walks of an adjacent grove,
Where first we mutually engag'd to love,
She fmiling afk'd me, Whether I'd prefer
An humble cottage on the plains with her,
Before the pompous building of the great;
And find content in that inferior state?
Said I, The question you propose to me,
Perhaps a matter of debate might be,
Were the degrees of my affection lefs
Than burning martyrs to the gods exprefs.
In you I've all I can defire below,
That earth can give me, or the gods bestow;
And, bleft with you, I know not where to find
A fecond, choice, you take up all my mind.
I'd not forfake that dear, delightful plain,
Where Charming Delia, Love and Delia reign,
For all the fplendor that a court can give,
Where gaudy fools and busy statefinen live.
Though youthful Paris, when his birth was known
(Too fatally related to a throne)
Forfook Oenone, and his rural sports,

For dangerous greatnefs and tumultuous courts;
Yet Fate fhould ftill offer its power in vain;
For what is power to fuch an humble fwain?
I would not leave my Delia, leave my fair,
Though half the globe fhould be affign'd my fhare.
And would you have me, friend, reflect again,
Become the bafeft and the worst of men?
O, do not urge me, Celadon, forbear;
I cannot leave her, fhe's too charming fair!
Should I your counsel in this cafe pursue,
You might fufpect me for a villain too :
For fure that perjur'd wretch can never prove
Just to his friend, who 's faithlefs to his love.

EPISTLE TO DÉLIA.

As thofe who hope hereafter heaven to share,
A rigorous exile here can calmly bear,
And, with collected spirits, undergo
The fad variety of pain below;
Yet, with intenfe reflections, antedate
The mighty raptures of a future ftate;
While the bright profpect of approaching joy
Creates a bless no trouble can destroy:
So, though I'm tofs'd by giddy Fortune's hand,
Ev'n to the confines of my native land;
Where I can hear the ftormy ocean roar,
And break its waves upon the foaming fhore:
'Though from my Delia banish'd; all that's dear,
That's good, or beautiful, or charming here:
Yet flattering hopes encourage me to livė,
And tell me Fate will kinder minutes give;
VOL. VI.

That the dark treafury of times contains
A glorious day, will finish all my pains :
And, while I contemplate on joys to come,
My griefs are filent, and my forrows dumb,
Believe me, nymph, believe nie, charming fair,
(When truth's confpicuous, we need not (wear;
Oaths will fuppofe a diffidence in you,
That I am falfe, my flame fictitious too)
Were I condemn'd by Fate's imperial power,
Ne'er to return to your embraces more,
I'd fcorn whate'er the bufy world could give;
'Twould be the worft of miferies to live:
For all my wishes and defires pursue,
All I admire, and covet here, is you.
Were I poffefs'd of your furprising charms,
And lodg'd again within my Delia's arms;
Then would my joys afcend to that degree,
Could angels envy, they would envy me.

Oft, as I wander in a filent fhade,
When bold vexations would my foul invade,
I banish the rough thought, and none pursue,
But what inclines my willing mind to you.
The foft reflections on your facred love,
Like fovereign antidotes, all cares remove;
Compofing every faculty to rest,
They leave a grateful flavour in my breast.
Retir'd fometimes into a lonely grove,

I think o'er all the ftories of our love.
What mighty pleasure have I oft poffefs'd,
When, in a mafculine embrace, I preft
The lovely Delia to my heaving breast!
Then I remember, and with vast delight,
The kind expreffions of the parting night:
Methought the fun too quick return'd again,
And day feem'd ne'er impertinent till then.
Strong and contracted was our cager blifs,
An age of pleafure in each generous kifs:
Years of delight in moments we compriz'd;
And heaven itfelf was there epitomiz'd.

But, when the glories of the castern light
O'erflow'd the twinkling tapers of the night;
Farewell, my Delia, O farewell! faid I,
The utmost period of my time is nigh:
Too cruel Fate forbids my longer stay,
And wretched Strephon is compell'd away.
But, though I must my native plains forego,
Forfake thefe fields, forfake my Delia too;
No change of fortune thall for ever move
The fettled bafe of my immortal love.

And muft my Strephon, must my faithful swain.
Be forc'd. you cry'd, to a remoter plain!
The darling of my foul fo foon remov'd!
The only valu'd, and the best belov'd!
Though other fwains to me themfclves ad trefs'd,
Strephon was fill distinguish'd from the rest:
Flat and infipid all their courtship feem'd;
Little themfelves, their paffions lefs esteem'd:
For my averfion with their flames increas'd,
And none but Strephon partial Delia pleas'd.
Though I'm depriv'd of my kind thepherd's fight
Joy of the day, and bleffing of the night;
Yet will you, Strephon, will you love me ftill?
However, flatter me, and fay you will.
For, fhould you entertain a rival love;
Should you unkind to me, or faithless prove;

No mortal e'er could half fo wretched be:
For fure no mortal ever lov'd like me.

Your beauty, nymph, faid I, my faith fecures;
Thofe you once conquer, must be always your's:
For, hearts fubdued by your victorious eyes,
No force can storm, no ftratagem surprise;
Nor can I of captivity complain,

While lovely Delia holds the glorious chain.
The Cyprian queen, in young Adonis' arms,
Might fear, at least, he would defpife her charms;
But I can never such a monster prove,
To flight the bleflings of my Delia's love.
Would those who at celestial tables fit,
Biet with immortal wine, immortal wit;
Choose to defcend to fome inferior board,

Which nought but seum and nonfenfe can afford?
Nor can I e'er those gay nymphs address,

Nor will I envy the fe ill judging swains
(What they enjoy's the refute of the plain.)
If, for my fhare of happinefs below,
Kind Heaven upon me Delia would beltow;
Whatever bleflings it can give bifide,
Let all mankind among themselves divide.

A PASTORAL ESSAY
ON THE

DEATH OF QUEEN MARY.
Anno 1694.

As gentle Strephon to his fold convey'd, [stray'¿,

Their tinfe! beauty may, perhaps, fubdue
A gaudy coxcomb, or a fulfome beau;
Lut seem at beft indifferent to me,
Who none but you with admiration fee.

Now, would the rolling orbs obey my will,
I'd make the fun a fecond time stand still,
And to the lower world their light repay,
When conquering Joshua robb'd them of a day:
Though our two fouls would different paflions
His was a thirst of glory, mine of love; prove;
It will not be; the fun makes hafte to rife,
And take poffeffion of the eastern skies;
Yet one more kifs, though millions are too few;
And, Delia, fince we muft, must part, adieu.
As Adam, by an injur'd Maker driven
From Eden's groves, the vicinage of heaven;
Compell'd to wander, and oblig'd to bear
The harsh impressions of a ruder air;
With mighty forrow, and with weeping eyes,
Jook'd back, and mourn'd the lofs of paradife:
With a concern like his did I review
My native plains, my charming Delia too;
For I left paradife in leaving you.

If, as I walk, a pleasant shade 1 find,
It brings your fair idea to my mind:
Such was the happy place, I, fighing, say,
Where I and Delia, lovely Delia, lay;
When first I did my tender thoughts impart,
And made a grateful present of my heart.
Or, if my friend, in his apartment, fhews
Some piece of Van Dyck's, or of Angelo's,
In which the artift has, with wond'rous care,
1 efcrib'd the face of one exeeeding fair;

hough, at first fight, it may my paffion raise,
And every feature I admire and praise ;
Yet full, methinks, upon a fecond view,
''is not to beautiful, fo fair as you.

If I converie with those whom most admit
To have a ready, gay, vivacious, wit;
They want fone amiable, moving grace,
Some turn of fancy that my Delia has:
For ten good thoughts amougit the crowd they
Me ink ten thousand are in pertinent. [vent,
Let other shepherds, that are prone to range,
Wit each caprice, their giddy hum ours change:
They 1.m variety lefs joys receive,
Than you alone are capable to give.

Beneath a mournful cypress fhade he found Cofmelia weeping on the dewy ground. Amaz'd, with eager hafte he ran to know The fatal caufe of her intemperate woe; And, clafping her to his impatient breast, In thefe foft words his tender care expreft :

Let us, beneath the gloomy shade, rehearse Cæleftia's facred name in no lefs facred verfe.

STREPHON.

Cæleftia dead! then 'tis in vain to live; What's all the comfort that the plains can give; Since the, by whofe bright influence alone Our flocks increas'd, and we rejoic'd, is gone; Since the, who round fuch beams of goodness Spread,

As gave new life to every fwain, is dead.

COSMELIA.

In vain we wish for the delightful spring; What joys can flowery May or April bring, When the, for whom the fpacious plains were spread,

With early flowers and cheerful greens, is dead?
In vain did courtly Damon warm the earth,
To give to fummer fruits a winter birth;
In vain we autumn wait, which crowns the fields
With wealthy crops, and various plenty yields;
Since that fair nymph, for whom the boundless
ftore

Of nature was preferv'd, is now no more.

STREPHON.

Farewell for ever then, to all that's gay:
You will forget to fing, and I to play.

No more with cheerful fongs, in cooling bowers,
Shall we confume the pleasurable hours:
All joys are banish'd, all delights are fled,
Ne'er to return, now fair Cæleftia's dead.

COSMELIA.

If e'er I fing, they shall be mournful lays
Of great Cæleftia's name, Cæleftia's praife:
How good the was, how generous, how wife!
How beautiful her shape, how bright her eyes!
How charming all; how much she was ador'd,
Alive; when dead, how much her loss deplor'd!
A noble theme, and able to infpire

The humbleft Mule with the fublimeft firc.
And fince we do of such a princess fing,
Let ours afcend upon a stronger wing;
And, while we do the lofty numbers join,
Her name will make the harmony divine.
Raise then thy tuneful voice; and be the song
Sweet as her temper, as her virtue strong.

STREPHON.

When her great lord to foreign wars was gone, And left Cæleftia here to rule alone; With how ferene a brow, how void of fear, When ftorms arofe, did the the veffel fteer! And when the raging of the waves did ceafe, How gentle was her fway in times of peace! Juftice and mercy did their beams unite, And round her temples spread a glorious light; So quick the eas'd the wrongs of every fwain, She hardly gave them leifure to complain; Impatient to reward, but flow to draw 'Th' avenging fword of neceffary law: Like Heaven, the took no pleasure to deftroy; With grief fhe punifh'd, and fhe fav'd with joy.

COSMELIA.

When godlike Belliger, from war's alarms, Return'd in triumph to Cæleftia's arms, She met her hero with a full defire;

But chafe as light, and vigorous as fire:

Such mutual flames, fo equally divine,
Did in each breath with fuch a luftre fhine,
His could not feem the greater, her's the lefs;
Both were immenfe, for both were in excefs.

STREPHON.

Oh, godlike princefs! Oh, thrice happy fwains! Whilft the prefided o'er the fruitful plains! Whilft fhe, for ever ravih'd from our eyes, To mingle with the kindred of the skies. Did for your peace her conftant thoughts employ; The nymph's good angel, and the shepherd's joy!

COSMELIA.

All that was noble beautify'd her mind; There wisdom fat, with folid reason join'd: There too did piety and greatness wait; Meeknefs on grandeur, modesty on state: Humble amidst the fplendors of a throne; Plac'd above all, and yet defpifing none. And when a crown was forc'd on her by fate, She with fome pains fubmitted to be great.

STREPHON.

Her pious foul with emulation ftrove To gain the mighty Pan's important love: To whofe mysterious rites fhe always came, With fuch an active, fo intense a flame; The duties of religion feem'd to be No more her care than her felicity.

COSMELIA.

Virtue unmix'd, without the least allay,
Pure as the light of a celeftial ray,
Commanded all the motions of the foul
With fuch a foft, but abfolute controul,
That, as the knew what beft great Pan would
please,

She still perform'd it with the greatest ease.
Him for her high exemplar the defign'd,
Like him, benevolent to all mankind.
Her foes the pity'd, not defir'd their blood;
And, to revenge their crimes, fhe did them good:
Nay, all affron s fo unconcern'd the bore,
(Maugre that violent temptation, power)
As if the thought it vulgar to refent,
Or with'd forgivencfs their worst punishment.

Methinks I fee her on the plains of light, All glorious, all incomparably bright! While the immortal minds around her gaze On the exceffive fplendor of her rayə;

Weep then (once fruitful vales) and fpring with yew!

Ye thirsty, barren mountains, weep with dew!
Let every flower on this extended plain
Not droop, but fhrink into its womb again,
Ne'er to receive anew its yearly birth!
Let every thing that's grateful leave the earth!
Let mournful cyprefs, with each noxious weed,
And baneful venoms, in their place fucceed!
Te purling, querulous brooks, o'ercharg'd with
grief,

Hafte fwiftly to the fea for more relief:
Then tiding back, each to his facred head,
Tell your aftonish'd fprings, Cæleftia's dead!

NONE lives in this tumultuous flate of things,
Where every morning foon new troubles brings,
But bold inquietudes will break his rest,
And gloomy thoughts difturb his anxious breast.
Angelic forms, and happy spirits, are
Above the malice of perplexing care:
But that's a blefling too fublime, too high,
For those who bend beneath mortality.
If in the body there was but one part
Subject to pain, and fenfible of fmart,
And but one paffion could torment the mind;
That part, that paffion, busy fate would find:
But, fince infirmities in beth abound,
Since fortow both fo many ways can wound:
'Tis not fo great a wonder that we grieve
Sometimes, as 'tis a miracle we live.

The happiest man that ever breath'd on earth,
With all the glories of estate and birth,
Had yet fome anxious care, to make him know,
No grandeur was above the reach of woe.
To be from all things that difquiet, free.
Is not confiftent with humanity.
Youth, wit, and beauty, are fuch charming
things,

O'er which, if affluence fpreads her gaudy wings
We think the perfon who enjoys fo much;
No care can move, and no affliction touch;
Yet could we but fome fecret method find
To view the dark receffes of the mind,
We there might fee the hidden feed of ftrife,
And woes in embryo ripening into life:
How fome fierce luft, or boisterous paflion, fil
The labouring spirit with prolific ills;
Pride, envy, or revenge, diftract the foul,
And all right reafon's godlike power control;
But if the muft not be allow'd to fway
Though all without appears ferene and gay,
A cankerous venom on the vitals preys,
And poifons all the comforts of his days.

External pomp and visible success
Sometimes contribute to our happiness;
But that which makes it genuine, refin'd,
Is a good confcience and a foul refign'd.
Then, to whatever end affliction's fent,
To try our virtues, or for punishment,
We bear it calmly, though a ponderons woe,
And ftill adore the hand that gives the blow:
For, in misfortunes this advantage lies;
They make us humble, and they make us wift;
And he that can acquire fuch virtues, gains
An ample recompence for all his pains.

Too foft carefles of a profperous fate
The pious fervours of the foul abate;
Tempts to luxurious cafe our careless days,
And gloomy vapour round the fpirits raile.
Thus luli'd into a fleep we dozing lie,
And find our ruin in fecurity;

Unless fome forrow comes to our relief,
And breaks th' enchanment by a timely gric.
But as we are allow'd, to cheer our fight,
In blackeft days, fome glinimerings of light;
So, in the most dejected hours we may
The fecret pleasure have to weep and pray:
And thofe requests the speedieft paffage find
To heaven, which flow from an afflicted mind:
And while to him we open our distrefs,
Our pains grow lighter, and out forrows lefs.
The finest mufic of the grove we owe
The mourning Philomel's harmonious woe;
And while her grief's in charming notes expres?
A thorny bramble pricks her tender break;
In warbling melody the fpends the night,
And moves at once compaffion and delight

No choice had e'er fo happy an event,
But he that made it did that choice repent.
So weak's our judgment, and fo fhart's our fight,
We cannot level our own withes right:
And if fometimes we make a wife advance,
T'ourselves we little owe, but much to chance,
So that when Providence, for fecret ends,
Corroding cares, or sharp affliction, fends