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TO FLAVIA. SON G.

SONG

'T'S

I.
IS not your beauty can ingage

My wary heart :
The sun, in all his pride, and rage,

Has not that art';
And yet he shines as bright as you,
If brightness could our fouls subdue.

II.

'Tis not the pretty things you say,

Nor those you write,
Which can make THYRS I S' heart your prey:

For that delight,
The graces of a well-taught mind,
In some of our own sex we find.

III.
No, FLAVIA; 'tis your love I fear ;

Love's surest darts,
Those which so seldom fail him, are

Headed with hearts : Their very shadows make us yield; Diffemble well, and win the field.

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The FA L L.

EE! how the willing earth gave way,

To take th' impression where she lay.
See ! how the mould, as loth to leave
So sweet a burden, still doth cleave
Close to the nymph's stain'd garment. Here
The coming spring would first appear ;
And all this place with roses strow,
If busy feet would let them grow.

HERE Venus smil'd, to see blind Chance
It felf, before her Son, advance;
And a fair image to present
Of what the Boy so long had meant.
'Twas such a chance as this, made all
The world into this order fall :
Thus the first lovers, on the clay,.
Of which they were composed, lay:
So in their prime, with equal grace,
Met the first patterns of our race.

Then blush not, Fair! or on him frown,
Or wonder how you both came down;
But touch him, and he'll tremble strait :
How could he then support your weight ?
How could the youth, alas! but bend
When his whole heav'n upon him lean'd?
If ought by him amiss were done,
'Twas that he let you rise so soon.

Of Of S x L V F A.

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U R fighs are heard, just heav'n declares
The sense it has of lovers'

cares :
She that so far the rest out-fhin'd,
Sylvia the fair, while she was kind,
As if her frowns impair'd her brow,
Seems only not unhandsome now.

So when the sky makes us indure
A storm, it self becomes obscure.

Hence 'tis that I conceal my fame,
Hiding from FLAVIA's self her name;
Left she, provoking heav'n, should prove
How it rewards neglected love.
Better a thousand such as
Their grief untold, should pine, and die;

Than her bright morning, over-cast
With sullen clouds, should be defac'd.

as 1,

The B U D.

ATELY on yonder swelling bush,

Big with many a coming rose,
This early bud began to blush,

And did but half it self disclose:
I pluckt it, tho' no better grown;
And now you see how full 'tis blown.

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Still as I did the leaves inspire,

With such a purple light they shone,
As if they had been made of fire,

And spreading so, would flame anon:
All that was meant by air, or fun,
To the young flow?r, my breath has done.

If our loose breath so much can do,
What
may

the same in forms of love, Of purest love, and music too,

When Flavia it aspires to move? When that, which life-less buds persuades To wax more soft, her youth invades?

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EHOLD the brand of beauty toft!

See, how the motion does dilate the flame! Delighted Love his fpoils does boast,

And triumph in this game.

Fire, to no place confin'd,
Is both our wonder, and our fear;

Moving the mind,
As lightning hurled through the air.

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High heav'n the glory does increase
Of all her shining lamps, this artful way:

The sun in figures, such as these,
Joys with the moon to play:

To

To the sweet strains they advance,
Which do resalt from their own spheres ;

As this nymph's dance
Moves with the numbers which she hears.

On the Discovery of a Lady's Painting.

YG MALE O N's fate revers'd is mine: PYGMALE

His marble love took flesh, and blood;
All that I worshipp'd as divine,

That beauty! now 'tis understood,
Appears to have no more of life,
Than that whereof he fram'd his wife.

As women yet, who apprehend

Some sudden cause of causeless fear, Although that seeming cause take end,

And they behold no danger near, A shaking thro' their limbs they find, Like leaves faluted by the wind :

So, though the beauty do appear

No beauty, which amaz'd me fo;
Yet from my breast I cannot tear

The passion, which from thence did grow;
Nor yet out of my fancy rase
The print of that supposed face.

A real beauty, though too near,

The fond NARCIS SU's did admire: I doat on that which is no where;

The sign of beauty feeds my fire.

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