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SONG.

PHILLIS, this early zeal affuage:
You overact your part:

The martyrs, at your tender age,
Gave Heav'n but half their heart.

Old men, till paft the pleasure, ne'er
Declaim against the fin :
'Tis early to begin to fear
The Devil at fifteen.

The world to youth is too fevere,
And, like a treacherous light,

Beauty the actions of the fair
Expofes to their fight.

And

yet this world as 'tis

Is oft deceiv'd by 't too :

Kind combinations feldom mifs;
Let's try what we can do.

SONG.

GET

you gone-you

will undo me,

If you love me don't pursue me;
Let that inclination perish,
Which I dare no longer cherish.

With harmless thoughts I did begin,
But in the crowd Love enter'd in ;
I knew him not, he was so gay,
So innocent, and full of play.

At ev'ry hour, in ev'ry place,
I either faw, or form'd your face :
All that in plays is finely writ,
Fancy for you and me did fit.

My dreams at night were all of you,
Such as, till then, I never knew.
I fported thus with young defire,
Never intending to go higher.

But now his teeth and claws are grown, Let me the fatal lion shun;

You found me harmless, leave me fo;

For, were I not, you'd leave me too.

SONG.

LOVE ftill has fomething of the sea,
From whence his mother rofe:

No time his flaves from doubt can free,
Nor give their thoughts repose.

They are becalm'd in clearest days,
And in rough weather tost,
They wither under cold delays,
Or are in tempests loft.

One while they seem to touch the port,
Then straight into the main
Some angry wind, in cruel sport,
The vessel drives again.

At first difdain and pride they fear,
Which if they chance to 'scape,
Rivals and falfehood foon appear,
In a more dreadful shape.

By fuch degrees to joys they come,
And are so long withstood,
So flowly they receive the fun,
It fcarcely does them good.

"Tis cruel to prolong a pain;
And to defer a joy,
Believe me, gentle Celimene,
Offends the winged boy.

An hundred thousand oaths your
Perhaps, would not remove;
And, if I gaz'd a thousand years,
I could no deeper love.

fears

SONG.

FAIR Amynta, art thou mad,

To let the world in me

Envy joys I never had,

And cenfure them in thee?

Filled with grief for what is paft,
Let us at length be wife;
And to love's true enjoyments hafte,
Since we have paid the price.

Love does timid souls despise,

Who lose themselves for toys,

And escapes for those devise

Who tafte his utmost joys.

Love should like the year be crown'd
With fweet variety ;

Hope should in the spring abound,

Kind fears, and jealousy.

In the fummer, flowers fhould rise,

And in the autumn, fruit:

His fpring doth else but mock our eyes, And in a fcoff falute.

SONG.

THANKS, fair Urania, to your fcorn,

I now am free, as I was born.
Of all the pain that I endured,
By your late coldness I am cured.

In lofing me, proud nymph, you lofe
The humbleft slave your beauty knows:
In lofing you, I but throw down
A haughty tyrant from her throne.

My ranging love did never find
Such charms of perfon and of mind;
You've beauty, wit, and all things know,
But where you fhould your love bestow.

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