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But is not Reason partially unkind?
Are all her votaries, like me, confin'd?
Must none, that under her dominion live,
To Love and Beauty veneration give?
Why then did Nature youthful Delia grace
With a majestic mien, and charming face?
Why did she give her that surprising air;
Make her so gay, so witty, and so fair;
Mistress of all that can affection move,
If Reason will not suffer us to love?
But, since it must be so, I'll haste away;
'Tis fatal to return, and death to stay.
From you, blest shades! (if I may call you so
Inculpable) with mighty pain I go:
Compell'd from hence, I leave my quiet here;
I may find safety, but I buy it dear."

Then turning round, I saw a beauteous boy, Such as of old were messengers of joy: "Who art thou, or from whence? if sent," said I, "To me, my haste requires a quick reply."

"I come," he cry'd," from yon celestial grove, Where stands the temple of the god of Love; With whose important favour you are grac'd, And justly in his high protection plac'd: Be grateful, Strephon, and obey that god, Whose sceptre ne'er is chang'd into a rod: That god, to whom the haughty and the proud, The bold, the bravest, nay, the best, have bow'd: That god, whom all the lesser gods adore; First in existence, and the first in power. From him I come, on embassy divine, To tell thee, Delia, Delia may be thine; To whom all beauties rightful tribute pay; Delia the young, the lovely, and the gay. If you dare push your fortune, if you dare But be resolv'd, and press the yielding fair, Success and glory will your labours crown; For Fate does rarely on the valiant frown. But, were you sure to be unkindly us'd, Boldly receiv'd, and scornfully refus'd; He greater glory and more fame obtains, Who loses Delia, than who Phyllis gains. But, to prevent all fears that may arise,' (Though fears ne'er move the daring and the wise) In the dark volumes of Eternal Doom, Where all things past, and present, and to come, Are writ, I saw these words It is decreed, That Strephon's love to Delia shall succeed.' What would you more? While youth and vigour last, Love, and be happy; they decline too fast. In youth alone you 're capable to prove The mighty transports of a generous love: For dull Old Age, with fumbling labour, cloys Before the bliss, or gives but wither'd joys. Youth 's the best time for action mortals have; That past, they touch the confines of the grave. Now, if you hope to lie in Delia's arms, To die in raptures, or dissolve in charms, Quick to the blissful happy mansion fly, Where all is one continued ecstasy. Delia impatiently expects you there: And sure you will not disappoint the fair. None but the impotent or old would stay, When Love invites, and Beauty calls away." "Oh! you convey," said I, "dear charming boy, Into my soul a strange disorder'd joy. I would, but dare not, your advice pursue; I've promis'd Reason, and I must be true. Reason 's the rightful empress of the soul; Does all exorbitant desires control;

Checks every wild excursion of the mind,"
By her wise dictates happily confin'd:
And he that will not her commands obey,
Leaves a safe convoy in a dangerous sea.
True, I love Delia to a vast excess,
But I must try to make my passion less:
Try if I can, if possible, I will,

For I have vow'd, and must that vow fulfil.
Oh! had I not, with what a vigorous flight
Could I pursue the quarries of delight!
How could I press fair Delia in these arms,
Till I dissolv'd in love, and she in charms!
But now no more must I her beauties view;
Yet tremble at the thoughts to leave her too.
What would I give, I might my flame allow!
But 'tis forbid by Reason, and a vow;
Two mighty obstacles: though Love of old
Has broke through greater, stronger powers control'd.
Should I offend, by high example taught,
'T would not be an inexpiable fault,
The crimes of Malice have found grace above,
And sure kind Heaven will spare the crimes of Love
Could'st thou, my angel, but instruct me how
I might be happy, and not break my vow;
Or, by some subtle art, dissolve the chain;
You'd soon revive my dying hopes again.
Reason and Love, I know, could ne'er agree;
Both would command, and both superior be.
Reason's supported by the sinewy force
Of solid argument, and wise discourse:
But Love pretends to use no other arms
Than soft impressions, and persuasive charms.
One must be disobey'd; and shall I prove
A rebel to my Reason, or to Love?
But then, suppose I should my flame pursue,
Delia may be unkind, and faithless too;
Reject my passion with a proud disdain,
And scorn the love of such an humble swain:
Then should I labour under mighty grief,
Beyond all hopes or prospect of relief.
So that, methinks, 't is safer to obey
Right Reason, though she bears a rugged sway,
Than Love's soft rule, whose subjects undergo,
Early or late, too sad a share of woe.
Can I so soon forget that wretched crew,
Reason just now expos'd before my view?
If Delia should be cruel, I must be
A sad partaker of their misery.
But your encouragements so strongly move,
I'm almost tempted to pursue my love:
For sure no treacherous designs should dwell
In one that argues and persuades so well;
For what could Love by my destruction gain?
Love's an immortal god, and I a swain;
And sure I may without suspicion trust
A god, for gods can never be unjust."

"Right you conclude," reply'd the smiling boy;
"Love ruins none, 'tis men themselves destroy;
And those vile wretches which you lately saw,
Transgress'd his rules, as well as Reason's law.
They're not Love's subjects, but the slaves of Lust;
Nor is their punishment so great as just.
For Love and Lust essentially divide,
Like day and night, Humility and Pride;
One darkness hides, t' other does always shine;
This of infernal make, and that divine.
Reason no generous passion does oppose;
'Tis Lust (not Love) and Reason that are foes.
She bids you scorn a base inglorious flame,
Black as the gloomy shade from whence it came:

In this her precepts should obedience find;
But yours is not of that ignoble kind.
You err in thinking she would disapprove
The brave pursuit of honourable love:

And therefore judge what 's harmless an offence;
Invert her meaning, and mistake her sense.
She could not such insipid counsel give,
As not to love at all; 'tis not to live,

But where bright virtue and true beauty lies,
And that in Delia, charming Delia's eyes.
Could you contented see th' angelic maid
In old Alexis' dull embraces laid?

Or rough-hewn Tityrus possess those charms,
Which are in heaven, the heaven of Delia's arms?
Consider, youth, what transport you forego,
The most entire felicity below;

Which is by Fate alone reserv'd for you:
Monarchs have been deny'd; for monarchs sue.
I own 'tis difficult to gain the prize;
Or 't would be cheap and low in noble eyes:
But there is one soft minute, when the mind
Is left unguarded, waiting to be kind;
Which the wise lover understanding right,
Steals in like day upon the wings of light.
You urge your vow, but can those vows prevail,
Whose first foundation and whose reason fail?
You vow'd to leave fair Delia; but you thought
Your passion was a crime, your flame a fault.
But since your judgment err'd, it has no force
To bind at all, but is dissolv'd of course;
And therefore hesitate no longer here,
But banish all the dull remains of fear.
Dare you be happy, youth? but dare, and be;
I'll be your convoy to the charming she.
What! still irresolute? debating still?
View her, and then forsake her if you will."

As if some architect divine had strove
T' outdo the palace of imperial Jove;
The ponderous gates of massy gold were made,
With di'monds of a mighty size inlaid;
Here stood the winged guards, in order plac'd,
With shining darts and golden quivers grac'd:
As we approach'd, they clapp'd their joyful wings,
And cry'd aloud, "Tune, tune your warbling strings;
The grateful youth is come, to sacrifice
At Delia's altar to bright Delia's eyes:
With harmony divine his soul inspire,
That he may boldly touch the sacred fire;
And ye that wait upon the blushing fair,
Celestial incense and perfumes prepare;
While our great god her panting bosom vams,
Refines her beauties, and improves her charms."

Entering the spacious dome, my ravish'd eyes
A wondrous scene of glory did surprise:
The riches, symmetry, and brightness, all
Did equally for admiration call!
But the description is a labour fit
For none beneath a laureat angel's wit.

Amidst the temple was an altar made
Of solid gold, where adoration 's paid;
Here I perform'd the usual rites with fear,
Not daring boldly to approach too near;
Till from the god a smiling Cupid came,
And bid me touch the consecrated flame:
Which done, my guide my eager steps convey'd
To the apartment of the beauteous maid.
Before the entrance was her altar rais'd,
On pedestals of polish'd marble plac'd,
By it her guardian Cupid always stands,
Who troops of missionary Loves command:
To him, with soft addresses all repair:
Each for his captive humbly begs the fair:

Would give encouragement to none but me.
"There stands the youth," he cry'd, "must take

a bliss,

"I'll go," said I; "once more I'll venture all; Though still in vain they importun'd; for he
"Tis brave to perish by a noble fall.
Beauty no mortal can resist; and Jove
Laid by his grandeur, to indulge his love.
Reason, if I do err, my crime forgive:
Angels alone without offending live.
I go astray but as the wise have done;
And act a folly which they did not shun."

Then we, descending to a spacious plain,
Were soon saluted by a numerous train
Of happy lovers, who consum'd their hours,
With constant jollity, in shady bowers.
There I beheld the blest variety
Of joy, from all corroding troubles free:
Each follow'd his own fancy to delight;
Though all went different ways, yet all went right.
None err'd, or miss'd the happiness he sought;
Love to one centre every twining brought. [glades,
We pass'd through numerous pleasant fields and
By murmuring fountains, and by peaceful shades;
Till we approach'd the confines of the wood,
Where mighty Love's immortal temple stood;
Round the celestial fane, in goodly rows,
And beauteous order, amorous myrtle grows;
Beneath whose shade expecting lovers wait
For the kind minute of indulgent Fate:
Each had his guardian Cupid, whose chief care,
By secret motions, was to warm the fair;
To kindle eager longings for the joy;
To move the slow, and to incline the coy.

The glorious fabric charm'd my wondering sight;
Of vast extent, and of prodigious height:
The case was marble, but the polish'd stone
With such an admirable lustre shone,

The lovely Delia can be none but his :
Fate has selected him; and mighty Love
Confirms below what that decrees above.
Then press no more; there's not another swain
On Earth, but Strephon, can bright Delia gain.
Kneel, youth, and with a grateful mind renew
Your vows; swear you 'll eternally be true
But if you dare be false, dare perjur'd prove,
You'll find, in sure revenge, affronted Love
As hot, as fierce, as terrible, as Jove."
"Hear me, ye gods," said I, "now hear me swear,
By all that 's sacred, and by all that 's fair!
If I prove false to Delia, let me fall
The common obloquy, condemn'd by all!
Let me the utmost of your yengeance try;
Forc'd to live wretched, and unpity'd die!"

Then he expos'd the lovely sleeping maid,
Upon a couch of new-blown roses laid.
The blushing colour in her cheeks express'd
What tender thoughts inspir'd her heaving breast.
Sometimes a sigh half-smother'd stole away;
Then she would "Strephon, charming Strephon,*

say.

Sometimes she, smiling, cry'd, "You love, 's
true;

But will you always, and be faithful too?"
Ten thousand graces play'd about her face;
Ten thousand charms attending every grace:
Each admirable feature did impart

A secret rapture to my throbbing heart,

The nymph imprison'd in the brazen tower,
When Jove descended in a golden shower,
Less beautiful appear'd, and yet her eyes
Brought down that god from the neglected skies.
So moving, so transporting was the sight,
So much a goddess Delia seem'd, so bright,
My ravish'd soul, with secret wonder fraught,
Lay all dissolv'd in ecstasy of thought.

Long time I gaz'd: but, as I trembling drew Nearer, to make a more obliging view,

It thunder'd loud, and the ungrateful noise
Wak'd me, and put an end to all my joys.

THE FORTUNATE COMPLAINT.

1

As Strephon, in a wither'd cypress shade,
For anxious thought and sighing lovers made,
Revolving lay upon his wretched state,
And the hard usage of too partial Fate;
Thus the sad youth complain'd: "Once happy swain,
Now the most abject shepherd of the plain!
Where's that harmonious concert of delights,
Those peaceful days, and pleasurable nights,
That generous mirth and noble jollity,
Which gaily made the dancing minutes flee?
Dispers'd and banish'd from my troubled breast;
Nor leave me one short interval of rest.

"Why do I prosecute a hopeless flame,
And play in torment such a losing game?
All things conspire to make my ruin sure:
When wounds are mortal, they admit no cure.
But Heaven sometimes does a miraculous thing,
When our last hope is just upon the wing;
And in a moment drives those clouds away,
Whose sullen darkness hid a glorious day.

"Why was I born, or why do I survive ;
To be made wretched only, kept alive?
Fate is too cruel in the harsh decree,
That I must live, yet live in misery.
Are all its pleasing happy moments gone?
Must Strephon be unfortunate alone?
On other swains it lavishly bestows;

On them each nymph neglected favour throws:
They meet compliance still in every face,
And lodge their passions in a kind embrace;
Obtaining from the soft incurious maid
True love for counterfeit, and gold for lead.
Success on Mævius always does attend;
Inconstant Fortune is his constant friend:
He levels blindly, yet the mark does hit;
And owes the victory to chance, not wit.
But, let him conquer cre one blow be struck;
I'd not be Mævius, to have Mævius's luck.
Proud of my fate, I would not change my chains
For all the trophies purring Mævius gains;
But rather still live Delia's slave, than be
Like Mævius silly, and like Mævius free.
But he is happy, loves the comTM on road,
And, pack-horse like, jogs on beneath his load.
If Phyllis peevish or unkind does prove,
It ne'er disturbs his grave mechanic love.
A little joy his languid flame contents,
And makes him easy under all events.
But when a passion 's noble and sublime,
And higher still would every moment climb,

2 Danaë.

If 't is accepted with a just return,
The fire 's immortal, will for ever burn;
And with such raptures fills the lover's breast,
That saints in Paradise are scarce more blest.

"But I lament my miseries in vain;
For Delia hears me, pitiless, complain.
Suppose she pities, and believes me true,
What satisfaction can from thence accrue,
Unless her pity makes her love me too?
Perhaps she loves ('t is but perhaps, I fear,
For that's a blessing can 't be bought too dear)
If she has scruples that oppose her will,

I must, alas! be miserable still.

Though, if she loves, those scruples soon will fly
Before the reasoning of the deity:

For, where Love enters, he will rule alone,
And suffer no co-partner in his throne;
And those false arguments, that would repel
His high injunctions, teach us to rebel.

"What method can poor Strephon then propound,
To cure the bleeding of his fatal wound,
If she, who guided the vexatious dart,
Resolves to cherish and increase the smart?
Go, youth, from these unhappy plains remove,
Leave the pursuit of unsuccessful love:
Go, and to foreign swains thy griefs relate,
Tell them the cruelty of frowning Fate;
Tell them the noble charms of Delia's mind,
Tell them how fair, but tell them how unkind.
And when few years thou hast in sorrow spent,
(For sure they cannot be of large extent)
In prayers for her thou lov'st, resign thy breath,
And bless the minute gives thee ease and death."

Here paus'd the swain-when Delia, driving by
Her bleating flock to some fresh pasture nigh,
By Love directed, did her steps convey
Where Strephon, wrapp'd in silent sorrow, lay.
As soon as he perceiv'd the beauteous maid,
He rose to meet her, and thus, trembling, said:
"When humble suppliants would the gods ap-
pease,

And in severe afflictions beg for ease,
With constant importunity they sue,
And their petitions every day renew;
Grow still more earnest as they are deny'd,
Nor one well-weigh'd expedient leave untry'd,
Till Heaven those blessings they enjoy'd before,
Not only does return, but gives them more.

"O, do not blame me, Delia! if I press
So much, and with impatience, for redress.
My pond'rous griefs no ease my soul allow;
For they are next t' intolerable now:
How shall I then support them, when they grow
To an excess, to a distracting woe?
Since you 're endow'd with a celestial mind,
Relieve like Heaven, and like the gods be kind.
Did you perceive the torments I endure,
Which you first caus'd, and you alone can cure,
They would your virgin soul to pity move,
And pity may at last be chang'd to love.
Some swains, I own, impose upon the fair,
And lead the incautious maid into a snare;
But let them suffer for their perjury,
And do not punish others' crimes with me.
If there's so many of our sex untrue,
Yours should more kindly use the faithful few ;-
Though innocence too oft incurs the fate
Of guilt, and clears itself sometimes too late.
Your nature is to tenderness inclin'd;
And why to me, to me alone unkind?

A common love, by other persons shown,
Meets with a full return; but mine has none:
Nay, scarce believ'd, though from deceit as free
As angels flames can for archangels be.
A passion feign'd, at no repulse is griev'd,
And values little if it be n't receiv'd:
But, love sincere resents the smallest scorn,
And the unkindness does in secret mourn.
"Sometimes I please myself, and think you are
Too good to make me wretched by despair:
That tenderness, which in your soul is plac'd,
Will move you to compassion sure at last.
But, when I come to take a second view
Of my own merits, I despond of you:
For what can Delia, beauteous Delia, see,
To raise in her the least esteem for me:
I've nought that can encourage my address;
My fortune 's little, and my worth is less:
But, if a love of the sublimest kind
Can make impression on a generous mind;
If all has real value that 's divine,
There cannot be a nobler flame than mine.

"Perhaps you pity me; I know you must,
And my affection can no more distrust:
But what, alas! will helpless pity do?
You pity, but you may despise me too.
Still I am wretched if no more you give,
The starving orphan can't on pity live:
He must receive the food for which he cries,
Or he consumes; and, though much pity'd, dies.
"My torments still do with my passion grow;
The more I love, the more I undergo.
But suffer me no longer to remain
Bencath the pressure of so vast a pain.
My wound requires some speedy remedy:
Delays are fatal, when despair is nigh.
Much I've endur'd, much more than I can tell;
Too much, indeed, for one that loves so well.
When will the end of all my sorrows be?
Can you not love? I'm sure you pity me.
But, if I must new miseries sustain,
And be condemn'd to more and stronger pain,
I'll not accuse you, since my fate is such,
I please too little, and I love too much."

"Strephon, no more," the blushing Delia said; "Excuse the conduct of a timorous maid: Now I'm convinc'd your love 's sublime and true, Such as I always wish'd to find in you. Each kind expression, every tender thought, A mighty transport in my bosom wrought: And though in secret I your flame approv'd, I sigh'd, and griev'd, but durst not own I lov'd. Though now-O Strephon! be so kind to guess, What shame will not allow me to confess."

The youth, encompass'd with a joy so bright,
Had hardly strength to bear the vast delight.
By too sublime an ecstasy possest,

He trembled, gaz'd, and clasp'd her to his breast;
Ador'd the nymph that did his pain remove,
Vow'd endless truth, and everlasting love.

STREPHON'S LOVE FOR DELIA JUSTIFIED.

IN AN EPISTLE TO CELADON.

ALL men have follies, which they blindly trace Through the dark turnings of a dubious maze.

But happy those, who, by a prudent care,
Retreat betimes from the fallacious snare.

The eldest sons of Wisdom were not free
From the same failure you condemn in me:
They lov'd, and, by that glorious passion led,
Forgot what Plato and themselves had said.
Love triumph'd o'er those dull, pedantic rules,
They had collected from the wrangling schools,
And made them to his noble sway submit,
In spite of all their learning, art, and wit:
Their grave, starch'd morals, then unuseful prov'd;
These dusty characters he soon remov'd;
For, when his shining squadrons came in view,
Their boasted Reason murmur'd, and withdrew;
Unable to oppose their mighty force
With phlegmatic resolves, and dry discourse.

If, as the wisest of the wise have err'd,
I go astray, and am condemn'd unheard,
My faults you too severely reprehend,
More like a rigid censor than a friend.
Love is the monarch passion of the mind,
Knows no superior, by no laws confin'd,
But triumphs still, impatient of control,
O'er all the proud endowments of the soul.

You own'd my Delia, friend, divinely fair,
When in the bud her native beauties were;
Your praise did then her early charms confess,
Yet you 'd persuade me to adore her less.
You but the non-age of her beauty saw,
But might from thence sublime ideas draw,
And what she is, by what she was, conclude;
For now she governs those she then subdued.

Her aspect noble and mature is grown,
And every charm in its full vigour known.
There we may wondering view, distinctly writ,
The lines of goodness, and the marks of wit:
Each feature, emulous of pleasing most,
Does justly some peculiar sweetness boast;
And her composure 's of so fine a frame,
Pride cannot hope to mend, nor Envy blame.
When the immortal beauties of the skies
Contended naked for the golden prize,
The apple had not fall'n to Venus' share,
Had I been Paris, and my Delia there;
In whom alone we all their graces find,
The moving gaiety of Venus, join'd
With Juno's aspect, and Minerva's mind.

View both those nymphs whom other swains

adore,

You'll value charming Delia still the more.
Dorinda's mien 's majestic, but her mind
Is to revenge and peevishness inclin'd:
Myrtilla 's fair; and yet Myrtilla 's proud:
Chloe has wit; but noisy, vain, and loud:
Melania doats upon the silliest things;
And yet Melania like an angel sings.
But in my Delia all endowments meet,
All that is just, agrecable, or sweet;
All that can praise and admiration move,
All that the wisest and the bravest love.

In all discourse he 's apposite and gay,
And ne'er wants something pertinent to say;
For, if the subject 's of a serious kind,
Her thoughts are manly, and her sense refin'd;
But if divertive, her expression 's fit,
Good language, join'd with inoffensive wit;
So cautious always, that she ne'er affords
An idle thought the charity of words.

The vices common to her sex can find No room, ev'n in the suburbs of her mind;

Concluding wisely she's in danger still,
From the mere neighbourhood of industrious ill.
Therefore at distance keeps the subtle foe,
Whose near approach would formidable grow;
While the unwary virgin is undone,
And meets the misery which she ought to shun.
Her wit is penetrating, clear, and gay;
But let true judgment and right reason sway;
Modestly bold, and quick to apprehend;
Prompt in replies, but cautious to offend.
Her darts are keen, but level'd with such care,
They ne'er fall short, and seldom fly too far:
For when she rallies, 'tis with so much art,
We blush with pleasure, and with rapture smart.
O, Celadon! you would my flame approve,
Did you but hear her talk of love.
That tender passion to her fancy brings
The prettiest notions, and the softest things;
Which are by her so movingly exprest,
They fill with ecstasy my throbbing breast.
'Tis then the charms of eloquence impart
Their native glories unimprov'd by art:
By what she says I measure things above,
And guess the language of seraphic love.

To the cool bosom of a peaceful shade,
By some wild beech or lofty poplar made,
When evening comes, we secretly repair
To breathe in private, and unbend our care:
And while our flocks in fruitful pastures feed,
Some well-design'd, instructive poem read;
Where useful morals, with soft numbers join'd,
At once delight and cultivate the mind:
Which are by her to more perfection brought,
By wise remarks upon the poet's thought;
So well she knows the stamp of eloquence,
The empty sound of words from solid sense.
The florid fustian of a rhyming spark,
Whose random arrow ne'er comes near the mark,
Can't on her judgment be impos'd, and pass
For standard gold, when 't is but gilded brass.
Oft in the walks of an adjacent grove,
Where first we mutually engag'd to love,
She smiling ask'd me, "Whether I'd prefer
An humble cottage on the plains with her,
Before the pompons building of the great;
And find content in that inferior state?"
Said I, "The question you propose to me,
Perhaps a matter of debate might be,
Were the degrees of my affection less
Than burning martyrs to the gods express.
In you I've all I can desire below,
That Earth can give me, or the gods bestow;
And, blest with you, I know not where to find
A second choice, you take up all my mind.
I'd not forsake that dear, delightful plain,
Where charming Delia, Love and Delia reign,
For all the splendour that a court can give,
Where gaudy fools and busy statesmen live.
Though youthful Paris, when his birth was known
(Too fatally related to a throne)

Forsook Oenone, and his rural sports,
For dangerous greatness, and tumultuous courts;
Yet Fate should offer still its power in vain;
For what is power to such an humble swain?
I would not leave my Delia, leave my fair,
Though half the globe should be assign'd my share."
And would you have me, friend, reflect again,
Become the basest and the worst of men?
O, do not urge me, Celadon; forbear;

I cannot leave her, she 's too charming fair!

Should I your counsel in this case pursue,
You might suspect me for a villain too:
For sure that perjur'd wretch can never prove
Just to his friend, who 's faithless to his love.

EPISTLE TO DELIA.

As those who hope hereafter Heaven to share,
A rigorous exile here can calmly bear,
And, with collected spirits, undergo
The sad variety of pain below;
Yet, with intense reflections, antedate
The mighty raptures of a future state:
While the bright prospect of approaching joy
Creates a bliss no trouble can destroy:
So, though I'm toss'd by giddy Fortune's hand,
Ev'n to the confines of my native land;
Where I can hear the stormy ocean roar,
And break its waves upon the foaming shore:
Though from my Delia banish'd; all that 's dear,
That 's good, or beautiful, or charming here:
Yet flattering hopes encourage me to live,
And tell me Fate will kinder minutes give;
That the dark treasury of times contains
A glorious day, will finish all my pains:
And, while I contemplate on joys to come,
My griefs are silent, and my sorrows dumb.
Believe me, nymph, believe me, charming fair,
(When truth's conspicuous, we need not swear;
Oaths will suppose a diffidence in you,
That I am false, my flame fictitious too)
Were I condemn'd by Fate's imperial power,
Ne'er to return to your embraces more,
I'd scorn whate'er the busy world could give;
'T would be the worst of miseries to live:
For all my wishes and desires pursue,
All I admire, or covet here, is you.
Were I possess'd of your surprising charms,
And lodg'd again within my Delia's arms;
Then would my joys ascend to that degree,
Could angels envy, they would envy me.
Oft, as I wander in a silent shade,
When bold vexations would my soul invade,
I banish the rough thought, and none pursue,
But what inclines my willing mind to you.
The soft reflections on your sacred love,
Like sovereign antidotes, all cares remove;
Composing every faculty to rest,
They leave a grateful flavour in my breast.
Retir'd sometimes into a lonely grove,

I think o'er all the stories of our love.
What mighty pleasure have I oft possess'd,
When, in a masculine embrace, I prest
The lovely Delia to my heaving breast!
Then I remember, and with vast delight,
The kind expressions of the parting night:
Methought the Sun too quick return'd again,
And day seem'd ne'er impertinent till then.
Strong and contracted was our eager bliss;
An age of pleasure in each generous kiss:
Years of delight in moments we compris'd;
And Heaven itself was there epitomis'd.

But, when the glories of the eastern light
O'erflow'd the twinkling tapers of the night;
"Farewell, my Delia, O farewell!" said I,
"The utmost period of my time is nigh:
Too cruel Fate forbids my longer stay,
And wretched Strephon is compell'd away.

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