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You then defpife the tinfel glittering fnare ;
Think vile mankind below a serious care.

Life is too fhort for any distant aim ;
And cold the dull reward of future fame:
Be happy then, while yet you have to live;
And love is all the bleffing heav'n can give.
Fir'd by new paffion you addrefs the fair;
Survey the opera as a gay parterre:

Young Cloe's bloom had made you certain prize,
But for a fide-long glance from Celia's eyes:
Your beating heart acknowledges her pow'r;
Your eager eyes her lovely form devour;
You feel the poifon fwelling in your breast,
And all your foul by fond defire poffefs'd.
In dying fighs a long three hours are past ;
To fome affembly with impatient hafte,
With trembling hope, and doubtful fear you move,
Refolv'd to tempt your fate,
and own your love :
But there Belinda meets you on the stairs,

Eafy her fhape, attracting all her airs ;

A fmile fhe gives, and with a smile can wound;
Her melting voice has mufick in the found;
Her ev'ry motion wears refiftlefs grace;
Wit in her mien, and pleasure in her face :
Here while you vow eternity of love,
Cloe and Celia unregarded move.

Thus on the fands of Africk's burning plains,
However deep no long impress remains ;

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The lighteft leaf can leave its figure there;
The strongest form is fcattered by the air.
So yielding the warm temper of your mind,
So touch'd by ev'ry eye, so tofs'd by wind;
Oh! how unlike the heav'n my foul defign'd!
Unfeen, unheard, the throng around me move;
Not wishing praise, infenfible of love:

No whifpers foften, nor no beauties fire;
Careless I fee the dance, and coldly hear the lyre.
So num'rous herds are driven o'er the rock ;
No print is left of all the paffing flock:
So fings the wind around the folid stone :
So vainly beat the waves with fruitless moan.
Tedious the toil, and great the workman's care,
Who dare attempt to fix impreffions there:
But fhould fome swain more skilful than the rest,
Engrave his name upon this marble breaft,
Not rolling ages cou'd deface that name;

Thro' all the ftorms of life 'tis ftill the fame:

Tho' length of years with mofs may shade the ground, Deep, tho' unfeen, remains the fecret wound.

EPI

EPILOGUE

To MARY, QUEEN of SCOTS. Defign'd to be spoken by Mrs. OLDFIELD.

By the Same.

HAT cou'd luxurious woman wish for more,

WHAT

To fix her joys, or to extend her pow'r ?
Their every wish was in this Mary seen,
Gay, witty, youthful, beauteous, and a queen.
Vain useless bleffings with ill conduct join'd !
Light as the air, and fleeting as the wind.
Whatever poets write, and lovers vow,
Beauty, what poor omnipotence haft thou!

Queen Befs had wifdom, council, power, and laws;

How few efpous'd a wretched beauty's cause!

Learn thence, ye fair, more folid charms to prize,
Contemn the idle flatt'rers of your eyes.

The brightest object fhines but while 'tis new ;
That influence leffens by familiar view.
Monarchs and beauties rule with equal fway,
All strive to ferve, and glory to obey ;
Alike'unpitied when depos'd they grow
Men mock the idol of their former vow.

Two

Two great examples have been shown to-day,
To what fure ruin paffion does betray;

What long repentance to fhort joys is due;
When reafon rules, what glory does enfue.
If you will love, love like Eliza then ;
I.ove for amusement, like those traytors men.
Think that this paftime of a leisure hour
She favour'd oft-but never shar'd her pow'r.
The traveller by defart wolves purfu'd
If by his art the favage foe's fubdu'd,
The world will ftill the noble act applaud,
Tho' victory was gain'd by needful fraud.
Such is, my tender fex, our helpless case;
And fuch the barbarous heart, hid by the begging face.
By paffion fir'd, and not with-held by shame,
They cruel hunters are; we, trembling game.
Trust me, dear ladies (for I know 'em well)
They burn to triumph, and they figh to tell :
Cruel to them that yield, cullies to them that fell.
Believe me, 'tis by far the wifer course,
Superior art should meet fuperior force :
Hear, but be faithful to your int'rest still;
Secure your hearts-then fool with whom

you

will.

}

VOL. I.

H

A RE

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WH

And idly languish life away?
While the fighing crowd admire
'Tis too foon for hartfhorn tea.

II.

All thofe difmal looks and fretting
Cannot Damon's life restore;
Long ago the worms have eat him,
You can never see him more.

III.

Once again confult your toilette,
In the glass your face review:
So much weeping foon will spoil it,
And no fpring your charms renew.

IV. I, like

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