No mortal flame was e'er fo cruel As this, which thus furvives the fuel! To a LADY, from whom he receiv'd a Silver Pen. M The filver favor which you gave, ADAM! intending to have try'd In ink the fhining point I dy'd, And drench'd it in the fable wave: When, griev'd to be fo foully stain’d, On you it thus to me complain'd. Suppofe you had deferv'd to take So ill a change; who ever won I, that expreffed her commands To mighty Lords, and Princely dames, Always most welcome to their hands; " 1 Proud that I would record their names; Muft now be taught an humble style, Some meaner beauty to beguile! So I, the wronged pen to please, That your great felf did ne'er indite, To CHLOR IS. HLORIS! fince first our calm of CH peace Was frighted hence, this good we find, Your favors with your fears increase, So the fair tree, which ftill preferves SONG. HILE I liften to thy voice, WHILE CHLORIS! I feel my life decay: That pow'rful noife Calls my fleeting foul away. Oh! fupprefs that magic found, Which destroys without a wound. Peace, CHLORIS, peace! or finging die; That together you, and I, To heav'n may go: For all we know Of what the Blessed do above Is, that they fing, and that they love Of Loving at First Sight. Nor the new fea explore, OT caring to observe the wind, Or Snatch'd from my self, how far behind May not a thousand dangers fleep Sweetness, truth, and ev'ry grace Some other nymphs, with colors faint, The Self- Banifh'd. T is not that I love you lefs, Than when before your feet I lay: Bu But, to prevent the fad increase In vain, alas! for every thing, Which I have known belong to you, Your form does to my fancy bring, And makes my old wounds bleed anew. Who in the spring, from the new fun, Too late begins thofe fhafts to fhun, Which PHOEBUS thro' his veins has fhot: Too late he would the pain affwage, But vow'd I have, and never muft Your banish'd fervant trouble you: mistrust For if I break, you may The vow I made to love you too. SONG. Go, lovely rofe! Tell her that waftes her time, and me, That now he knows, When I resemble her to thee, How fweet, and fair, she seems to be. Tell her that's young, And fhuns to have her graces fpy'd, In deferts, where no men abide, Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retir'd: Bid her come forth, Suffer her felf to be defir'd, And not blush fo to be admir'd. Then die! that the The common fate of all things rare How small a part of time they share, THYRSIS. GALATE A, THYRS IS. S lately I on filver THAMES did ride, Such was her look as forrow taught to fhine; GALAT E A. You that can tune your founding ftrings fo well, Of Ladies' beauties, and of love to tell, lute report The jufteft grief that ever touch'd the Court. THYR |