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“My mother does unkindly use her son,
“By her neglect the Cyclops is undone ;
“ For me she never labours to prevail,
“ Nor whispers in your ear my amorous tale.
“No; though she knows I languish every day,
“ And sees my body waste, and strength decay.
“But I more ills than what I feel will feign,
“ And of my head and of my feet complain ;
That, in her breast if any pity lie,

may be fad, and griev'd, as well as I.
!“ O Cyclops, Cyclops, where's thy reason Aled ?

If your young lambs with new-pluck d boughs you fed, “And watch'd your flock, would you not seem more wife; “ Milk what is next, pursue not that which flies.

Perhaps you may, since this proves so unkind, “ Another fairer Galatea find. “Me many virgins as I pass invite “ To waste with them in love's soft sports the night ; “ And, if I but incline my listening ear, “New joys, new smiles, in all their looks appear. “ Thus we, it seems, can be belov'd ; and we, “ It seems, are somebody as well as she !"

Thus did the Cyclops fan his raging fire,
And footh’d with gentle verse his fierce desire ;
Thus pass’d his hours with more delight and ease,
Than if the riches of the world were his.

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"LY swift, ye hours; ye sluggish minutes, fly;

Bring back my love, or let her lover die.
Make haste, O fun, and to my eyes once more,
My Cælia brighter than thyself restore.
In spite of thee, 'tis night when she's away,

eyes alone can the glad beams display,
That makes my sky look clear, and guide my day.

when will she lift up her sacred light,
And chafe away the flying shades of night!
With her how fast the flowing hours run on!
But oh! how long they stay when she is gone!
So slowly time when clogg'd with grief does move;
So swift when borne upon the wings of love!
Hardly three days, they tell me, yet are paft ;
Yet ’tis an age since I beheld her last.
O, my auspicious star, make haste to rise,
To charm our hearts, and bless our longing eyes!
0, how I long on thy dear eyes to gaze,
And chear my own with their reflected rays !
How my impatient, thirsty soul does long
To hear the charming music of thy tongue !
Where pointed wit with solid judgment grows,
And in one easy stream united flows.
Whene'er you speak, with what delight we hear,
You call up every foul to every year !


Nature's too prodigal to womankind, Ev’n where the does neglect t'adorn the mind; Beauty alone bears such resistless sway, As makes ' mankind with joy and pride obey. But, oh! when wit and sense with beauty's join'd, The woman's fweetness with the manly mind; When nature with so just a hand does mix The most engaging charms of either sex; And out of both that thus in one combine Does something form not human but divine, What's her command, but that we all adore The noblest work of her almighty power! Nor ought our zeal thy anger to create, Since love's thy debt, nor is our choice, but fate. Where nature bids, worship I’m forc’d to pay, Nor have the liberty to disobey; And whenfoe'er she does a poet make, She gives him verse but for thy beauty's fake. Had I a pen that could at once impart Soft Ovid's nature and high Virgil's art, Then the immortal Sacharissa's name Should be but second in the list of fame; Each grove, each shade, should with thy praise be filled, And the fam'd Penshurst to our Windsor yield,





"HOU equal partner of the royal bed,

That mak'st a crown fit soft on Charles's head ; In whom, with greatness virtue takes her feat, Meekness with power, and piety with state ; Whose goodness might ev'n factious crowds reclaim, Win the feditious, and the savage tame ; Tyrants themselves to gentlest mercy bring, And only useless is on such a king ! See, mighty princess, see how every breast With joy and wonder is at once posseft : Such was the joy which the first mortals knew, When gods descended to the people's view, Such devout wonder did it then afford, To see those powers they had unseen ador'd, But they were feign'd; nor, if they had been true, Could shed more blessings on the earth than you : Our courts, enlarg'd, their former bounds disdain, To make reception for fo great a train : Here may your sacred breast rejoice to see, Your own age strive with ancient piety ; Soon now, since blest by your auspicious eyes, To full perfection shall our fabric rife. Less powerful charms than yours of old could call The willing stones into the Theban wall, And ours, which now its rise to you shall

owe, More fam'd than that by your great name shall grow.


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A PASTORAL, upon the Death of her Grace MARY

Duchess of SOUTHAMPTON 1680.


ELL me, my Thyrsis, tell thy Damon, why

Does my lov'd swain in this sad posture lie? What mean these streams still falling from thine eyes, Fast as those fighs from thy fwoln bosom rife? Has the fierce wolf broke through the fenced ground? Have thy lambs stray'd? or has Dorinda frown'd ? THYRSIS. The wolf? Ah! let him come, for

now he may : Have thy lambs stray'd? let them for ever stray: Dorinda frown'd? No, she is ever mild ; Nay, I remember but just now she smild: Alas! The smil'd; for to the lovely maid None had the fatal tidings yet convey’d. Tell me then, shepherd, tell me, canst thou find As long as thou art true, and she is kind, A grief so great, as may prevail above Ev'n Damon's friendship, or Dorinda's love ? Dam. Sure there is none. Ther. But, Damon,

there may be. What if the charming Floriana die ?

Dam. Far be the omen! THYR. But suppose it true? · Dam. Then should I grieve, my Thyrfis, more

than you.


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