When to our little Cottage we repair,

We find a Friend or two, we'd wish for there,
Dear Bly, kind as parting Lovers Tears,
Adderly, honeft as the Sword he wears,
Wilfon, profeffing friendship yet a Friend,
Or-Short, beyond what numbers can commend,
Finch, full of kindness, gen'rous as his blood,
Watchful to do, to modeft merit good;
Who have forfook the wild tumultuous Town,
And for a taste of life to us come down;
With eager Arms how closely then w' embrace,
What Joy's in every heart, and every face!
The moderate Table's quickly cover'd o'er
With choiceft Meats at leaft, though not with ftore:
Of Bottles next fucceeds a goodly Train,

Full of what chears the Heart, and fires the Brain,
Each waited on by a bright virgin Glass,
Clean, found and fhining like its drinker's Lafs,
Then down we fit; while every Genius tries
T'improve, 'till he deferves his Sacrifice:
No faucy hour prefumes to ftint delight,

}

We laugh, love,drink, and when that's done 'tis night:
Well warm'd and pleas'd, as we think fit we part,
Each takes th' obedient Treafure of his heart,
And leads her willing to his filent Bed,
Where no vexatious cares come near his Head,
But every fenfe with perfect pleafure's fed;
'Till in full Joy diffolv'd, each falls afleep,
With twining Limbs, that ftill Love's pofture keep;
At dawn of morning to renew delight,
So quiet craving love till the next night :
Then we the drowfie Cells of fleep forfake,
And to our Books our earliest visit make;
Or else our thoughts to their attendance call,
And there methinks, Fancy fits Queen of all;
While the poor under Faculties refort,
And to her fickly Majefty make Court;

}

The Understanding firft comes plainly clad,
But ufefully; no entrance to be had,
Next comes the Will, that Bully of the mind,
Follies wait on him in a Troop behind;
He meets Reception from the antick Queen,
Who thinks her Majefty's moft honour'd when
Attended by thofe fine dreft Gentlemen.
Reafon, the honeft Counsellor, this knows,
And into Court with res'lute Virtue goes;
Lets Fancy fee her loofe irregular fway,
Then how the flattering Follies fneak away!
This Image when it came too fiercely fhook
My Brain, which its foft quiet ftraight forfook;
When waking as I caft my eyes around,
Nothing but old loath'd Vanities I found;
No Grove, no Freedom, and what's worfe to me,
No Friend; for I have none compar'd with thee.
Soon then my Thoughts with their old Tyrant Care
Were feiz'd; which to divert I fram'd this pray'r;
Gods! life's your gift, then feafon't with fuch fate,
That what ye meant a bleffing, prove no weight.
Let me to the remoteft part be whirl'd,

Of this your play-thing made in hafte, the Worlds.
But grant me Quiet, Liberty and Peace,
By day what's needful, and at night soft ease;
The Friend I truft in, and the She I love,
Then fix me; and if e'er I wish remove,
Make me as great (that's wretched) as ye can,
Set me in power, the woful'ft ftate of Man;
To be by Fools mif-led, to Knaves a prey:
But make Life what I ask, or take't away.

3

A LETTER to a FRIEND..

A Youth once free and happy, now a slave,

Found a retreat within a peaceful Cave;
Where no intruders durft his hours moleft,
(But the Dear Paffion ftill inflam'd his Breaft)
And where abandon'd to his reftlefs Pains,
He weeps alone, and feels his weighty Chains.
From thence------

To a dear Friend (fuch as are hard to find)
Known true and juft, and longing to be kind,
Who always fhar'd his Pleafures and his Pain,
In these fad terms writ the tormented Swain.
My only Friend, learn my unhappy Fate,
That I'm undone by Love, oppos'd by Hate:
Your pity e'er I ask I'm fure to gain,
But cruel Cynthia's never muft obtain.

You are not ign'rant of her charms I know,
Too well by her they're known, and thence my woe
Yet muft I not complain, I own the Fair
Has justly doom'd me to the pains I bear;
For I have long prophanely laught at Love,
And oft to make the World defpife it, ftrove.
Wanton till now were all the flames I knew,
With pleafures wing'd my minutes gaily flew :
When Beauty wounded, Wine foon freed my Soul,
My peace came fwimming in the healing Bowl;
Or if too weak the Wine against Love's charms,
I took fome balmy Harlot to my Arms;
Which always did the raging pains remove,
And cool the ftings of any other Love.
In peace and plenty, with ftill new Delights,
I pafs'd my joyful Days and Amorous Nights.
But now in vain that freedom loft I mourn,
My far fed Liberty will ne'er return ;

Too ftrong's my Paffion, as the Nymph too Fair,
(Ah, lovely Nymph, must I for ever bear !)
In your bright Eyes fuch Heav'nly Beauties fhine,
You want but mercy to be all Divine;

Loft freedom to regain I dare not try,
That were Rebellion, and I ought to dye.
Why fhou'd your pow'rful Charms your Pride create,
Your Pride your only Fault, my only Fate?
'Thus oft I've mourn'd the Conquest of her Eyes,
Since firft my Heart was made her Sacrifice,
And the the panting Victim cou'd defpife.
Yet fpite of all her rigorous disdain,
I love my Ruin, and I hug my Chain.
Reafon in vain endeavours to perfuade
That I fhou'd quit this haughty, fcornful Maid;
Small Paffions often make our Reafon yield,
When Love invades, it well may quir the Field.
Your hopeless Friend thus languishing remains,
Enflav'd by one who will not eafe his Pains;
Smiles when he weeps,and frowns when he com-
plains,

AN

ELE G Y,

By the Wife of St. Alexias (a Nobleman of Rome) complaining on his abfence, he having left her on bis Wedding Night unenjoy'd, out of a Pious Zeal to go visit the Chriftian Churches.

I

Written in Latin by Fran. Remond, a Jefuit.

Prais'd and Lov'd by the best Youth of Rome, My fatal Charms fent many to their Tomb, Now wretched Maid, and miferable wife,

In Tears, and in Complaints, muft wafte my Life;

Abandon'd by my Husband e'er enjoy'd,
With thoughts of pleafures yet untasted cloy'd.
He leaves me to my anxious Cares a Prey;
Ah! my Alexias, whither do you stray;
Whilft in my Maiden widow'd Bed I lye,
More wretched than the Dead; and wish to dye?
In you were all my Hopes, dear Wanderer,
Your doubted Safety now creates my Fear;
He broke his Vows, he broke our Marriage-bond,
What dangers may a perjur'd Wretch furround,
At least his flight his tender Feet may wound?
Oh that I knew which way his courfe he fteers,
'Twou'd foften much my pains, and leffen much my
A Letter fhou'd inform him of my cares, [fears
And he with pity fure wou'd read my Pray'is;
I'd write him lines might move a fenfeless Stone,
Nay his hard Heart to feel compaffion.
But, when we write, too flow are the returns,
Too flow, for one that with my paffion burns;
Letters I wou'd not truft, my felf wou'd go,
And from my Mouth my forrows he fhou'd know.
By ftealth I'll leave my Father's Houfe, 'twas you
Did firft, alas! the fad Example fhew.

My preffing Love wou'd wing my willing Feet,
To fly, till my Alexias thou'd meet.

Through Defarts I durft go (a tender Maid)
In fearch of you I could not be afraid.
No dangers should my eager fteps retard,
My Innocence and Love would be my guard.
If Dragons against me their Crefts fhould rear,
Or fhould I meet a Lyon or a Bear,

I never can be capable of Fear.

David (too young for toils) a tender Boy,
Could the fierce Lyon and rough Bear deftroy;
From his fmall Hand a Pebble could confound,
And ftrike the Mountain Gyant to the Ground.
Th' Affyrian General, Bethulia's dread,

By a chafte Woman's hand did lofe his Head,
And he was by her Guardian Angel led.

}