AN EPISTLE

TO A LADY WHO HAD RESOLVED AGAINST MARRIAGE.

MADAM, I cannot but congratulate
Your refolution for a single state;

Ladies, who would live undisturb'd and free,
Muft never put on Hymen's livery;
Perhaps its outside seems to promise fair,
But underneath is nothing elfe but care.
If once you let the Gordian knot be ty'd,
Which turns the name of virgin into bride;
That one fond act your life's best scene foregoes,
And leads you in a labyrinth of woes,
Whose strange meanders you may search about,
But never find the clue to let you out.
The married life affords you little cafe,
The best of husbands is so hard to please:
This in wives careful faces you may spell,
Though they diffemble their misfortunes well.
No plague's fo great as an ill-ruling head,
Yet 'tis a fate which few young ladies dread:
For Love's infinuating fire they fan,
With fweet ideas of a god-like man.
Chloris and Phyllis glory'd in their swains,
And fung their praises on the neighbouring plains;
Oh! they were brave, accomplish'd, charming men,
Angels till marry'd, but proud devils then.
Sure fome refiftlefs power with Cupid fides,
Or we should have more virgins, fewer brides;
For fingle lives afford the moft content,
Secure and happy, as they're innocent:
Bright as Olympus, crown'd with endless ease,
And calm as Neptune on the Halcyon feas:
Your fleep is broke with no domeftic cares,
No bawling children to disturb your prayers;
No parting forrows to extort your tears,
No blustering husband to renew your fears!
Therefore, dear madam, let a friend advise,
Love and its idle deity defpife:
Supprefs wild Nature, if it dares rebel;

There's no fuch thing as "leading apes in hell."

CLELIA TO URANIA.

AN ODE.

I.

THE difmal regions which no fun beholds,
Whilft his fires roll fome diftant world to cheer;
Which in dry darkness, frost, and chilling cold,
Spend one long portion of the dragging year,
At his returning influence never knew
More joy than Clelia, when the thinks of you.

11.

Thofe zealots, who adore the rifing fun,

Would foon their darling deity defpife, And with more warm, more true devotion run, To worship nobler beams, Urania's eyes ; Had they beheld her lovely form divine, Where rays more glorious, more attracting, shine.

THOU tyrant God of Love, give o'er,
And perfccute this breast no more:
Ah! tell me why must every dart
Be aim'd at my unhappy heart?
I never murmur'd or repin'd,
But patiently myself refign'd
To all the torments, which through thee
Have fell, alas! on wretched me:
But oh! I can no more fuftain
This long continued state of pain,
Though 'tis but fruitlefs to complain.
My heart, first foften'd by thy power,
Ne'er kept its liberty an hour:
So fond and easy was it grown,
Each nymph might call the fool her own:
So much to its own intereft blind,
So ftrangely charm'd to womankind,
That it no more belong'd to me,
Than veftal-virgins hearts to thee.
I often courted it to stay;
But, deaf to all, 'twould fly away.
In vain to stop it I essay'd,
Though often, often, I difplay'd
The turns and doubles women made.
Nay more, when it has home return'd,
By fome proud maid i!l us'd and scorn'd,
I ftill the renegade careft,

And gave it harbour in my breast.
O then, with indignation fir'd
At what before it so admir'd;
With fhame and sorrow overcaft,
And fad repentance for the past,
A thousand facred oaths it fwore
Never to wander from me more;
After chimeras ne'er to rove,
Or run the wild-goose chace of love.

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576

Thus it refolv'd

Till fome new face again betray'd
The refolutions it had made :

Then how 'twould flutter up and down,
Eager, impatient, to be gone:
And, though fo often it had fail'd,
Though vainiefs every heart affail'd,
Yet, lur'd by hope of new delight,
It took again its fatal flight.
'Tis thus, malicious deity,

That thou haft banter'd wretched me;
Thus made me vainly lofe my time,
Thus fool away my youthful prime;
And yet, for all the hours I've loft,
And fighs and tears, thy bondage coft,
Ne'er did thy flave thy favours blefs,
Or crown his paffion with fuccess.
Well-fince 'tis doom'd that I must find
No love for love from womankind;
Since I no pleasure must obtain,
Let me at least avoid the pain :
So weary of the chace I'm grown,
That with content I'd fit me down,
Enjoy my book, my friend, my cell,
And bid all womankind farewel.
Nay, afk, for all I felt before,
Only to be disturb'd no more.
Yet thou (to my comp ainings deaf)
Will give my torments no reliet;

But now, ev'n now, thou mak'st me die,
And love I know not whom, nor why,
In every part I feel the fire.

And burn with fanciful defire;

From whence can love its magic draw?
I doat on her never faw:
And wh, but lovers, can exprefs
This ftrange, myflerions tenderness?
And yet methinks 'tis happier fo,
Than whom it is I love to know:
Now my unbounded notions rove,
And frame ideas to my love.
Itancy fhould something find,
Diviner both in face and mind,
Than ever nature did beftow
On any creature here below.
I fancy thus Corinna walks,

That thus the fings, the looks, the talks.
Son.etimes I figh, and fancy then,
That, did Corinna know my pain,
Could they trickling tears but fee,
She would be kind, and pity me.
Thus thinking I've no caule to grieve,
I picafingly myfelf deceive;
And fure am happier far than he
Who knows the very truth can be.
Then, gentle Cupid, let me ne'er
See my inagnary fair:

Left the thould be more heavenly bright
Than can be reach'd by fancy's height:
Left (when I on her beau y gaze,
Confounded, loft in an amaze;
My trembling lips and eyes fhould tell,
'Tis her I dare to love to well);
She, with an angry, fcornful eye,
Or fome unkind, fovere reply,

مال

DAMON.

Can you then go? Can you for ever part, (Ye Gods! what fhivering pains furround my heart!

And have one thought to make your pity lefs?
Ah Daphne, could I half my pangs exprefs, [were,
You could not think, though hard as rocks you
Your pity ever could too great appear.

I ne'er fhall be one moment free from pain,
Till I behold thofe charming eyes again.
When gay diverfions do your thoughts employ,
I would not come to interrupt the joy;

But when from them you fomne fpare moment find,
Think then, oh think on whom you leave behind!
Think with what heart I fall behold the green,
Where I fo oft thofe charming eyes have seen!
Think with what grief I walk the groves alone,
When you, the glory of them all, are gone!
Yet, oh! that little time you have to itay,
Let me ftill speak, and gaze my foul away!
But fee my paffion that finall aid denies;
Grief flops my tongue, and tears o'erflow my eyes

ECLOGUE II.

GALATEA.

THYRSIS, the gayeft one of all the fwains, Who fed their flocks upon th' Arcadian plains; While love's mad paffion quite devour'd his heart, And the coy nymph that caus'd, neglects his smart; Strives in low numbers, fuch as fhepherds ufe, If not to move her breast, his own amuse. You, Chloris, who with fcorn refuse to see The mighty wounds that you have made on me ; = Yet cannot fure with equal pride difdain, To hear an humble hind of his complain..

Now while the flocks and herds to fhades retire, While the fierce fun fets all the world on fire; Through burning fields, through rugged brakes I

rove,

And to the hills and woods declare my love, How fmall's the heat! how easy is the pain I feel without, to that I feel within!

1

Yet fcornful Galarea will not hear,
But from my fongs and pipe ftill turns her ear:
Not fo the fage Corifca, nor the fair
Climena, nor rich Egon's only care;
From them my fongs a juft compaffion drew;
And they fhall have them, fince contemn'd by you.
Why name I them, when ev'n chaste Cynthia
stays,

And Pan himself, to liften to my lays?
Pau, whose sweet pipe has been admir'd fo long,
Has not difdain'd fometimes to hear my fong:
Yet Galatea fcorns whate'er I fay,
And Galatea's wifer fure than they.

Relentlefs nymph! can nothing move your mind?
Muit you be deaf, because you are unkind?
Though you dislike the fubject of my lays,
Yet fure the fweetnefs of my voice might plcafe.
It is not thus that you dull Mopfus ule;
His fongs divert you, though you mine refufe:
VOL. VI.

Yet I could tell you, fair one, if I would,
(And fince you treat me thus, methinks I should)
What the wife Lycon faid, when in yon' plain
He faw him court in hope, and me in vain;
Forbear, fond youth, to chace a heedlefs fair,
Nor think with well-tun'd verse to please her ear
Seek out fome other nymph, nor c'er repine
That one who likes his fongs, fhould fly from thine.
Ah, Lycon! ah! your rage falfe dangers forms;
'Tis not his fongs, but 'tis his fortune charms:
Yet, fcornful maid, in time you'll find thofe toys
Can yield no real, no fubitantial joys;
In vain his wealth, his titles gain esteem,
If for all that you are afham'd of him.

Ah, Galatea, would'st thou turn those eyes,
Would't thou but once vouchfafe to hear my cries
In fuch foft notes I would my pains impart,
As could not fail to move thy rocky heart;
With fuch sweet fongs I would thy fame make
known,

As Pan himself might not difdain to own.
Oh could'st thou, fair one, but contented be
To tend the theep, and chace the hares, with me
To have thy praifes echo'd through the groves,
And pafs thy days with one who truly loves:
Nor let thofe gaudy toys thy heart furprise,
Which the fools envy, and the fage defpife,

But Galatea fcorns my humble flame,
And neither afks my fortune, nor my name,
Of the best cheefe my well-ftor'd dairy's full,
And my foft sheep produce the finest wool;
The richest wines of Greece my vineyards yield,
And fmiling crops of grain adorn my field.

Ah, foolish youth in vain thou boaft'ft thy
ftore,

Have what thou wilt, if Mopfus ftill has more.
See whilft thou fing'ft, behold her haughty pride,
With what difdain fhe turns her head afide!
Oh, why would Nature, to our ruin, place,
A tiger's heart, with fuch an angel's face?

Cease, thepherd, cease, at last thy fruitless mean;
Nor hope to gain a heart already gone.
While rocks and cave. thy tuneful notes refound,
See how thy corn lies wither'd on the ground!
The hungry wolves devour thy fatten'd lambs;
And bleating for the young makes lean the dams,
Take, shepherd, take thy hook, thy flocks purfue,
And when one nymph proves cruel, find a new.

ECLOGUE IIL

DAMON.

TAKEN FROM THE EIGHTH CLOGUE OF VIRGIL,
ARISE, O Phosphorus! and bring the day,
While I in fighs and tears confume away;
Deceiv'd with flattering hopes of Nifa's love;
And to the gods my vain petitions move:
Though they've done nothing to prevent my death,
I'll yet invoke them with my dying breath.
Begin, my Mufe, begin th' Arcadian ftrains.

Arcadia's famous for its fpacious plains,
Its whistling pine-trees, and its fhady groves,
And often hears the fwains lament their loves

Great Pan upon its mountains feeds his goats,
Who firft taught reeds to warble rural notes.
Begin, my Mufe, begin th' Arcadian strains.

Mopfus weds Nifa! oh, well-fuited pair!
When he fucceeds, what lover can despair?
After this match, let mares and griffins breed;
And hounds with hares in friendly confort feed.
Go, Mopfus, go; provide the bridal cake,
And to thy bed the blooming virgin take:
In her foft arms thou fhalt fecurely reft,
Behold, the evening comes to make thee bleft!
Begin, my Mufe, begin th' Arcadian strains.

Oh, Nifa, happy in a lovely choice!

While you with fcorn neglect my pipe and voice;
While you defpife my humble fongs, my herd,
My fhaggy eyebrows, and my rugged beard;
While through the plains difdainfully you move,
And think no fhepherd can deferve your love;
Mopfus alone can the nice virgin win,
With charming perfon, and with graceful mien.
Begin my Mufe, begin th' Arcadian strains.

When firft I faw you on thofe fatal plains,
I reach'd you fruit; your mother too was there;
Scarce had you feen the thirteenth fpring appear:
Yet beauty's buds were opening in your face;
Igaz'd, and blufhes did your charms increase.
'Tis love, thought I, that's rifing in her breast;
Alas, your paffion, by my own, I gueft;
Then upon truft I fed the raging pains.
Begin, my Mufe, begin th' Arcadian strains.

Oh, love! I know thee now; thou ow'ft thy birth To rocks; fome craggy mountain brought thee forth:

Nor is it human blood that fills thy veins,
Begin, my Mufe, begin th' Arcadian strains.
Relentless love to bold Medea fhew'd,
To ftain her guilty hands in children's blood.
Was the more cruel, or more wicked he?
He was a wicked counsellor, a cruel mother fhe.
Begin, my Mufe, begin th' Arcadian firains.

Now let the fcreech-owls vie with warbling
fwans ;

Upon hard oaks let blufhing peaches grow,
And from the brambles liquid amber flow.
The harmlefs wolves the ravenous fheep fhall fhun;
And valiant deer at fearful greyhounds run:
Let the fea rife, and overflow the plains.
Begin, my Mufe, begin th' Arcadian strains.

Adieu, ye flocks; no more fhall I pursue !
Adieu, ye groves; a long, a long adieu !
And you, coy nymph, who all my vows difdain,
Take this laft prefent from a dying fwain.
Since you diflike whate'er in life I said,
You may be pleas'd, perhaps, to hear I'm dead:
This leap fhall put an end to all my pains.
Now ceafe, my Mufe, now ceafe th' Arcadian
ftrains.

Thus Damon fung while on the cliff he stood, Then headlong plung'd into the raging flood. All with united grief the lofs bemoan, Except the authorefs of his fate alone, Who hears it with an unrelenting breast. Ah, cruel nymph! forbear your fcorns at least. How much foe'er you may the love despise, Fis barbarous to infult on one that dies.

ECLOGUE IV.

LYCON.

STREPHON and Damon's flocks together fed,
Two charming fwains as e'er Arcadia bred;
Both fam'd for wit, and fam'd for beauty both;
Both in the luftre of their blooming youth :
No fullen cares their tender thoughts remove,
No paffions difcompofe their fouls, but love.
Once, and but once alone, as story goes,
Between the youths a fierce difpute arose;
Not for the merit of their tuneful lays
(Though both deferv'd, yet both despis'd, that
praise);

But for a caufe of greater moment far,
That merited a lover's utmost care.

Each fwain the prize of beauty ftrove to gain,
For the bright fhepherdefs that caus'd his pain.
Lycon they chofe, the difference to decide,
Lycon, for prudence and fage counsel try'd;
Who love's myfterious arts had study'd long,
And taught, when old, what he had practis'd
young.

For the difpute alternate verfe they choofe,
Alternate verfe delights the rural Muse.

Each curl, each flower fhe wears, a charm exDAM. Sylvia, without a foreign aid, inflames; Charm'd with her eyes, we never mind her

drefs.

(hair? STREP. Have you feen Flavia with her flaxen She feems an image of the queen of love! DAM. Sylvia's dark hair like Leda's locks appear, And yet, like her, has charms to conquer Jove. STREP. Flavia by crowds of lovers is admir'd; Happy that youth who fhall the fair enjoy! DAM. Sylvia neglects her lovers, lives retir'd; Happy, that could her lonely thoughts employ! STREP. Flavia, where'er the comes, the fwains fubdues,

And every fmile fhe gives conveys a dart. DAM. Sylvia the fwains with native coldness views;

And yet what fhepherd can defend his heart? STREP. Flavia's bright beauties in an inftant ftrike:

Gazers, before they think of it, adore. [like; DAM. Sylvia's foft charms, as foon as feen, we But fill the more we think, we love the more. STREP. Who is fo ftupid, that has Flavia feen,

As not to view the nymph with vaft delight? DAM. Who has feen Sylvia, and fo ftupid been, As to remember any other fight? STREP. What thoughts has Flavia, when with care the views

Her charming graces in the crystal lakes ?

DAM. To fee hers, Sylvia need no mirrors u
She fees them by the conquefts that she makes.
STREP. With what affurance Flavia walks the
plains!

[yield. She knows the nymphs must all their lovers | DAM. Sylvia with blushes wounds the gazing fwains;

And while fhe strives to fly, fhe wins the field. STREP. Flavia at first young Melibœus lov'd:

For me fhe did that charming youth forfake. DAM. Sylvia's relentless heart was never mov'd: Gods that I might the first impression make! STREP. Should Flavia hear that Sylvia vy'd with her,

What indignation would the charmer fhew! DAM. Sylvia would Flavia to herself prefer: There we alone her judgment difallow. STREP. If Sylvia's charms with Flavia's can compare,

Why is this crowded ftill, and that alone? DAM. Because their ways of life fo different are; Flavia gives all men hopes, and Sylvia none,

LYCON. Shepherds, enough; now ceafe your

amorous war,

Or too much heat may carry both too far:
I well attended the difpute, and find [kind.
Both nymphs have charms, but each in different
Flavia deferves more pains than she will coft;
As cafily got, were the not eafily loft.
Sylvia is much more difficult to gain;
But, once poffefs'd, will well reward the pain.
We with them Flavias all, when firft we burn;
But, once poffefs'd, wifh they would Sylvias turn.
And, by the different charms in each expreft,
One we should fooneft love, the other beft.

ECLOGUE V.

DELIA.

Lamenting the Death of Mrs. Tempeft, who died upon the Day of the great Storm.

Ye gentle fwains, who pafs your days and nights
In Love's fincere and innocent delights!
Ye tender virgins, who with pride difplay
Your beauty's fplendor, and extend your fway!
Lament with me! with me your forrows join!
And mingle your united tears with mine!
Delia, the Queen of Love, let all deplore!
Delia, the Queen of Beauty, now no more!
Begin, my Mufe! begin your mournful ftrains!
Tell the fad tale through all the hills and plains!
Tell it through every lawn and every grove!
Where flocks can wander, or where fhepherds

rove!

The foaming fea o'erwhelms the frighten'd shore,
The vallies tremble, and the mountains roar.
See lofty oaks from firm foundations torn,
And ftately towers in heaps of ruin mourn!
The gentle Thames, that rarely paffion knows,
Swells with this forrow, and her banks o'erflows:
What fhrieks are heard! what groans! what dying

cries!

Ev'n Nature's felf in dire convulfions lies!
Delia, the Queen of Love, they all deplore!
Delia, the Queen of Beauty, now no more!

O! why did I furvive the fatal day,
That fnatch'd the joys of all my life away?
Why was not I beneath fome ruin loft?
Sunk in the feas," or fhipwreck'd on the coaft?
Why did the Fates fpare this devoted head?
Why did I live to hear that thou wert dead?
By thee my griefs were calm'd, my torments
eas'd;

Nor knew I pleasure, but as thou wert pleas'd.
Where fhall I wander now, diftrefs'd, alone?
What ufe have I of life, now thou art gone?
I have no ufe, alas! but to deplore
Delia, the pride of Beauty, now no more!

What living nymph is bleft with equal grace?
All may difpute, but who can fill thy place?
What lover in his mistress hopes to find
A form fo lovely, with fo bright a mind?
Doris may boaft a face divinely fair,

But wants thy fhape, thy motions, and thy air.
Lucinda has thy fhape, but not thofe eyes,
That, while they did th' admiring world furprife,
Difclos'd the fecret luftre of the mind,
And feem'd each lover's inmoft thoughts to find.
Others, whofe beauty yielding fwains confefs,
By indifcretion make their conqueft lefs,
And want thy conduct and obliging wit
To fix thofe flaves who to their chains fbmit.
As fome rich tyrant hoards an useles store,
That would, well plac'd, inrich a thufand more:
So didft thou keep a crowd of charms retir'd
Would make a thonfand other nymphs admir'd.
Gay, modeft, artiefs, beautiful, and young;
Slow to refolve; in refolution strong;
To all obliging, yet referv'd to all;
None could himself the favour'd lover call:
That which alone could make his hopes endure,
Was, that he faw no other fwain fecure.
Whither, ah! whither are thofe graces fled?
Down to the dark, the melancholy fhade?
Now, fhepherds, row lament! and now deplore!
Delia is dead, and beauty is no more!

For thee each tuneful fwain prepar'd his tays,
His fame exalting while he fung thy praise.
Thyrfis, in gay and eafy measures, itrove
To charm thy ears, and tune thy foul to love:
Menalcas, in his numbers more fublime,
Extoll'd thy virtues in immortal rhyme:
Glycon, whofe fatire kept the world in awe,
Soften'd his ftrain, when first thy charms he faw,
Confefs'd the goddefs who new-form'd his mind,
Proclaim'd thy beauties, and forgot mankind.
Ceafe, fhepherd, ceafe: the charms you fung are
fled;

The glory of cur blafted ifle is dead.
O o j