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Deceiv'd by thee, I lov'd a beauteous maid,
Who bends on sordid gold her low desires : Nor worth nor passion can her heart persuade,
But love must act what avarice requires!
Unwise, who first (the charm of nature loft)
With Tyrian purple foil'd the snowy sheep; Unwiser ftill, who seas and mountains cross'd,
To dig the rock, and search the pearly deep!
These costly toys our filly fair surprize;
The shining follies cheat their feeble sight: Their hearts, secure in trifles, love despise;
'Tis vain to court them, but more vain to write!
Why did the gods conceal the little mind
And earthly thought beneath a heav'nly face ! Forget the worth that dignifies mankind,
Yet smooth and polish fo cach outward grace!
Hence all the blame that Love and Venus bear;
Hence pleasure short, and anguish ever long : Hence tears and fighs; and hence the peevish fair,
The froward lover-hence this angry song,
APIE U, ye walls, that guard my cruel fair !
No more I'll sit in rosy fetters bound :
My rouzing spirits feel the trumpet's found.
Few the maids that now on merit smile,
On spoil and war is bent this iron age ; Yet pain and death attend on war and spoil,
Unfated vengeance and remorseless rage.
TO To purchase spoil, e’en Love itself is sold ;
Her lover's heart is least Neæra's care :
Not for myself, but for my venal fair ;
That while she bends beneath the weight of dress,
The stiffenéd robe may spoil her easy mien;
While still it hides fome graces better seen!
But if such toys can win her lovely smile,
Her's be the wealth of Tagus' golden sand;
Her's the black fons of Africk's sultry land!
To please her eye, let every loom contend;
For her be rifled Ocean’s pearly bed!
And soothe with dreams a youthful poet's head?
Let others buy the cold unloving maid,
In forc'd embraces act the tyrant's part;
And scorn the person, where I doubt the heart!
Thus warm’d by Pride; I think I love no more,
And hide in threats the weakness of my mind:
Yet Love, the coward Love, ftill lags behind.
SHOULD Jove descend in floods of liquid ore,
And golden torrents stream from every part,
Not all the god could satisfy thy heart.
But may thy folly, which can thus disdain
My honest love, the mighty wrong repay ; May midnight fire involve thy sordid gain,
And on the shining heaps of rapine prey !
May all the youths, like me, by love deceiv'd,
Not quench the ruin, but applaud the doom;
May not one tear bedew thy lonely tomb!
But the deserving, tender, generous maid,
Whose only care is her poor lover's mind ; Tho' ruthless age may bid her beauty fade,
In every friend to love, a friend shall find!
And when the lamp of life will burn no more,
When dead she seems as in a gentle sleep; The pitying neighbour shall her lofs deplore,
And round the bier assembled lovers weep!
With flow'ry garlands, each revolving year
Shall strew the grave where truth and softness rest; Then home returning drop the pious tear,
And bid the turf lie eafy on her breast.
WHILE calm you fit beneath your secret shade,
And lose in pleasing thought the summer day; Or tempt the wish of some unpractis'd maid,
Whose heart at once inclines and fears to stray:
The sprightly vigour of my youth is filed;
Lonely and sick, on death is all my thought. Oh, spare, Persephone*, this guiltless head!
Love, too much love, is all thy suppliant's fault.
No virgin's easy faith I e'er betray'd,
My tongue ne'er boasted of a feign'd embrace ; No poisons in the cup have I convey'd,
Nor veil'd destruction with a friendly face.
No secret horrors gnaw this quiet breast,
This pious hand ne'er robb'd the facred fane; I ne'er difturb’d the God's eternal rest
With curses loud, but oft have pray'd in vain.
No stealth of time has thinn'd my flowing hair,
Nor age yet bent me with his iron hand : Ah! why so foon the tender blossom tear,
Ere Autumn yet the ripen’d fruit demand!
Ye gods! whoe'er, in gloomy shades below,
Now slowly tread your melancholy round, Now wand'ring, view the baleful rivers flow,
And musing, hearken to their folemn found :
Oh, let me still enjoy the chearful day,
Till many years unheeded o'er me rollid,
But you, who now with festive garlands crown'd,
In chace of pleasure the gay moments spend; By quick enjoyment heal Love's pleasing wound,
And grieve for nothing, but your absent friend.
WITH winc, more wine, deceive thy master's care,
Till creeping slumber foothe his troubled breast;
Untoward guards beset my Cynthia's doors,
And cruel locks th’imprison'd fair conceal : May lightnings blast whom Love in vain implores,
And Jove's own thunder rive those bolts of steel !
Ah, gentle door, attend my humble call,
Nor let thy founding hinge our thefts betray ; So all my curses far from thee shall fall!
We angry-lovers mean not half we say.
Remember now the flow'ry wreaths I gave,
When firft I told thee of my bold defires: Nor thou, O Cynthia, fear the watchful slave;
Venus will favour what herself inspires.
She guides the youths who see not where they tread;
She shews the virgin how to turn the door, Softly to steal from off her filent bed,
And not a step betray her on the floor,
The fearless lover wants no beam of light,
The robber knows him, nor obstructs his way ; Sacred he wanders thro' the pathless night,
Belongs to Venus, and can never stray.
I scorn the chilling wind, and beating rain,
Nor heed cold watchings on the dewy ground; If all the hardships I for Love fustain,
With Love's victorious joys at last be crown'd:
With sudden ftep let none our bliss surprize,
Or check the freedom of fecure delight! Rash man beware, and shut thy curious eyes,
Left angry Venus snatch their guilty fight !