But, fav'd by Belvidera's charming tears,

Still o'er the fubject main her towers she rears,
And ftands a great example to mankind,

With what a boundless fway you rule the mind,
Skilful the worst or nobleft ends to serve,
And strong alike to ruin or preserve.

In wretched Jaffier, we with pity view
A mind, to Honour false, to Virtue true,
In the wild ftorm of struggling passions toft,
Yet faving innocence, though fame was loft;
Greatly forgetting what he ow'd his friend-
His country, which had wrong'd him, to defend.
But fhe, who urg'd him to that pious deed,
Who knew fo well the patriot's caufe to plead,
Whofe conquering love her country's fafety won,
Was, by that fatal love, herself undone.

* "Hence may we learn, what paffion fain would "hide,

"That Hymen's bands by prudence should be tied. "Venus in vain the wedded pair would crown, "If angry Fortune on their union frown: "Soon will the flattering dreams of joys be o'er, "And cloy'd imagination cheat no more; "Then, waking to the fenfe of lasting pain, "With mutual tears the bridal couch they ftain;

And

*The twelve following lines, with fome small variations, have been already printed in " Advice to a "Lady," p. 39; but, as Lord Lyttelton chofe to introduce them here, it was thought more eligible to repeat these few lines, than to fupprefs the reft of the poem.

N.

"And that fond love, which fhould afford relief,
"Does but augment the anguish of their grief:
"While both could easier their own forrows bear,
"Than the fad knowledge of each other's care."
May all the joys in Love and Fortune's power
Kindly combine to grace your nuptial hour!
On each glad day may plenty fhower delight,
And warmest rapture blefs each welcome night!
May Heaven, that gave you Belvidera's charms,
Deftine fome happier Jaffier to your arms,
Whose blifs misfortune never may allay,
Whofe fondness never may through care decay ;
Whose wealth may place you in the fairest light,
And force each modeft beauty into fight!
So shall no anxious want your peace destroy,
No tempeft crush the tender buds of joy;
But all your hours in one gay circle move,
Nor Reason ever difagree with Love!

T

ELL me, my heart, fond flave of hopeless love,
And doom'd its woes, without its joys, to prove,

Canft thou endure thus calmly to erafe

The dear, dear image of thy Delia's face?
Canft thou exclude that habitant divine,

To place fome meaner idol in her shrine?

O talk, for feeble Reason too severe !

- lesson, nought could teach me but despair!

Muft I forbid my eyes that heavenly fight,

They 've view'd fo oft with languifhing delight?

Muft my ears thun that voice, whofe charming found Seem'd to relieve, while it encreas'd, my wound ?

O Waller! Petrarch! you who tun'd the lyre
To the foft notes of elegant defire;

Though Sidney to a rival gave her charms,
Though Laura dying left her lover's arms,
Yet were your pains lefs exquifite than mine,
'Tis easier far to lofe, than to refign!

INSCRIPTION for a BUST of Lady SUFFOLK; Defigned to be fet up in a Wood at Stowe.

1732.

HER wit and beauty for a court were made
But truth and goodnefs fit her for a fhade.

SULPICIA TO CERINTHUS,

IN HER SICKNESS.

FROM

TIBULLUS.

(Sent to a Friend, in a Lady's Name.) SAY, my Cerinthus, does thy tender breaft

Feel the fame feverish heats that mine moleft?

Alas! I only wish for health again,

Because I think my lover thares my pain:

For what would health avail to wretched me, you could, unconcern'd, my illness fee?

If

I

SULPICIA TO CERINTHUS.

M

weary

of this tedious dull deceit;

Myself I torture, while the world I cheat:

Though Prudence bids me strive to guard my fame, Love fees the low hypocrify with fhamė;

Love bids me all confefs, and call thee mine,

Worthy my heart, as I am worthy thine :
Weaknefs for thee I will no longer hide;
Weakness for thee is woman's noblest pride.

CATO'S SPEECH TO LABIENUS.

In the Ninth Book of LUCAN.

("Quid quæri, Labiene, jubes, &c.")

WHAT, Labienus, would thy fond defire,

Of horned Jove's prophetic fhrine enquire?

Whether to feek in arms a glorious doom,
Or bafely live, and be a king in Rome?
If life be nothing more than death's delay;
If impious force can honeft minds difmay,
Or Probity may Fortune's frown difdain;
If well to mean is all that Virtue can;
And right, dependant on itself alone,

Gains no addition from fuccefs? 'Tis known:
Fix'd in my heart these constant truths I bear,
And Ammon cannot write them deeper there.

Our

Our fouls, allied to God, within them feel The fecret dictates of th' Almighty will;

This is his voice, be this our oracle.

When firft his breath the feeds of life inftill'd,
All that we ought to know was then then reveal'd.
Nor can we think the Omniprefent mind

Has truth to Libya's defart fands confin'd,
There, known to few, obscur'd, and loft, to lie
Is there a temple of the Deity,

Except earth, fea, and air, yon azure pole;
And chief, his holiefst shrine, the virtuous foul?
Where-e'er the eye can pierce, the feet can move,
This wide, this boundless univerfe is Jove.
Let abject minds, that doubt because they fear,
With pious awe to juggling priests repair;
I credit not what lying prophets tell-

Death is the only certain oracle.

Cowards and brave muft die one deftin'd hour-
This Jove has told; he needs not tell us more.

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