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To him, for whom heav'n seem'd to frame,
And measure out, this only dame.

Thrice happy is that humble pair,
Beneath the level of all care !
Over whose heads those arrows fly
Of fad diftrust, and jealousy :
Secured in as high extreme,
As if the world held none but them.

To him the faireft nymphs do show
Like moving mountains, top'd with snow:
And every man a POLYPH E ME
Does to his GALATE A seem :
None may presume her faith to prove;
He proffers death that proffers love.

Ah CHLORIS! that kind nature thus
From all the world had sever'd us :
Creating for our selves us two,
As love has me for only you !



READING the path to nobler ends,

A long farewel to love I gave: Resolv'd my country, and my friends,

All that remain'd of me should have.

And this resolve no mortal dame,

None but those eyes, could have o'erthrown: The nymph, I dare not, need not name,

So high, so like her self alone.


Thus the tall oak, which now aspires
Above the fear of private fires;
Grown, and design'd, for nobler use,
Not to make warm, but build the house ;
Tho' from our meaner flames secure,
Muft that which falls from heav'n indure.

From a CHILD.

ADAM, as in some climes the warmer Sun

Makes it full summer, e'er the spring's begun: And with ripe fruit the bending boughs can load, Before our violets dare look abroad : So, measure not by any common use, The early love your brighter eyes produce. When lately your fair hand in woman's weed Wrap'd my glad head, I wilh'd me so indeed, That hasty time might never make me grow Out of these favors, you afford me now: That I might ever such indulgence find ; And you not blush, or think yourself too kind. Who now, I fear, while I these joys express, Begin to think how you may make them less : The sound of love makes your foft heart afraid, And guard itself, tho’ but a Child invade; And innocently at your white breast throw A dart as white, a ball of new-fall’n snow.

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HAT, which her flender waist confin'd,'

Shall now my joyful temples bind : No monarch but would give his crown, His arms might do what this has done.

It was my heav'ns extremest sphere, The pale which held that lovely deer: My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, Did all within this circle move!

A narrow compass! and yet there Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair : Give me but what this riband bound, Take all the rest the sun goes round.

To the Mutable Fair.



ERE, CÆLIA! for thy fake I part
With all that

grew so near my heart
The passion that I had for thee,
The faith, the love, the constancy!
And, that I


fuccessful prove, Transform myself to what you love.

Fool that I was! so much to prize
Those fimple virtues you despise :
Fool! that with such dull arrows strove,
Or hop'd to reach a flying dove.
For you, that are in motion still,
DO ne our force, and mock our skill :

Who ,

Who, 'like DON QUIXOT E, do advance
Against a windmill our vain lance.

Now will I wander thro' the air,
Mount, make a stoop at ev'ry Fair ;
And, with a fancy unconfin'd,
(As lawless 'as the sea or wind)
Persue you wherefoe'er you fly,
And with your various thoughts comply.

The formal stars do travel so,
As we their names, and courses, know;
And he that on their changes looks,
Would think them govern'd by our books :
But never were the clouds reduc'd
To any art: the motion us’d
By those free vapors are so light,
So frequent, that the conquer'd fight
Despairs to find the rules that guide
Those gilded shadows as they slide.
And therefore of the spacious air
Jo v e’s royal confort had the care;
And by that pow'r did once escape,
Declining bold Ixion's rape ;
She, with her own resemblance, grac’d
A shining cloud, which he embrac'd.
Such was that image, so it smild
With seeming kindness, which beguild
Your THYRSIS lately, when he thought
He had his fleeting CÆLIA caught.
„Twas shap'd like her, but, for the Fair,
He fills his arms with yielding air.

A fate! for which he grieves the less,
Because the Gods had like success.


For in their story, one, we see,
Persues a nymph, and takes a tree:
A second, with a lover's hafte,
Soon overtakes whom he had chac'd ;
But she that did a Virgin seem,
Poffeft, appears a wand'ring stream:
For his supposed love, a third
Lays greedy hold upon a bird ;
And stands amaz'd, to find his dear
A wild inhabitant of th' air.
To these old tales such nymphs as you
Give credit, and still make them new;
The amorous now like wonders find,
In the swift changes of your mind.

But, CÆLIA, if you apprehend
The Muse of your incensed friend ;
Nor would that he record your blame,
And make it live, repeat the same ;
Again deceive him, and again,
And then he fwears he'll not complain.
For still to be deluded fo,
Is all the pleasure lovers know ;
Who, like good falc'ners, take delight,
Not in the quarry, but the flight.


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