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

She may be fad, and griev'd, as well as I.

"O Cyclops, Cyclops, where 's thy reason fled? 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.

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Perhaps you may, fince this proves fo 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 liftening ear,

"New joys, new fmiles, in all their looks appear.
“Thus we, it seems, can be belov'd; and we,
"It seems, are fomebody as well as fhe!"
Thus did the Cyclops fan his raging fire,
And footh'd with gentle verfe his fierce defire;
Thus pafs'd his hours with more delight and case,
Than if the riches of the world were his.



"LY fwift, ye hours; ye sluggish minutes, fly;
Bring back my love, or let her lover die.
Make hafte, O fun, and to my eyes once more,
My Calia brighter than thyself restore.

In fpite of thee, 'tis night when she's away,
Her eyes alone can the glad beams difplay,
That makes my fky look clear, and guide my day.
O when will the lift up her facred light,
And chafe away the flying fhades of night!
With her how faft the flowing hours run on!
But oh! how long they stay when she is gone!
So flowly time when clogg'd with grief does move;
So fwift when borne upon the wings of love!
Hardly three days, they tell me, yet are past;
Yet 'tis an age fince I beheld her laft.

O, my aufpicious star, make haste to rise,
To charm our hearts, and blefs our longing eyes!
O, how I long on thy dear eyes to gaze,
And chear my own with their reflected rays!
How my impatient, thirsty foul does long
To hear the charming music of thy tongue!
Where pointed wit with folid judgment grows,
And in one eafy stream united flows.
Whene'er you fpeak, 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 fuch refiftless sway,

As makes mankind with joy and pride obey.
But, oh! when wit and fenfe 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 fex;
And out of both that thus in one combine
Does fomething form not human but divine,
What's her command, but that we all adore
The nobleft 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 fhe 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 Sachariffa's name

Should be but fecond in the lift of fame;

Each grove, each shade, should with thy praise be fill'd, And the fam'd Penshurst to our Windfor yield.




'HOU equal partner of the royal bed,


That mak'ft a crown fit foft on Charles's head; In whom, with greatness virtue takes her feat, Meeknefs with power, and piety with state; Whose goodness might ev'n factious crowds reclaim, Win the feditious, and the favage tame; Tyrants themselves to gentleft mercy bring, And only useless is on fuch a king! See, mighty princess, see how every breast With joy and wonder is at once poffeft: Such was the joy which the first mortals knew, When gods defcended to the people's view, Such devout wonder did it then afford, To fee those powers they had unfeen ador'd, But they were feign'd; nor, if they had been true, Could shed more bleffings on the earth than you : Our courts, enlarg'd, their former bounds difdain, To make reception for fo great a train : Here may your facred breast rejoice to fee, Your own age strive with ancient piety;

Soon now, fince bleft by your auspicious eyes,

To full perfection fhall our fabric rise.

Lefs powerful charms than yours of old could call The willing ftones into the Theban wall,

And ours, which now its rife to you fhall owe,

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




A PASTORAL, upon the Death of her Grace MARY Duchefs of SOUTHAMPTON 1680.



'ELL me, my Thyrfis, tell thy Damon, why Does my lov'd fwain in this fad pofture lie? What mean these streams still falling from thine eyes, Faft 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 ftray'd? let them for ever stray:
Dorinda frown'd? No, fhe is ever mild;
Nay, I remember but just now she smil'd:
Alas! fhe fmil'd; for to the lovely maid
None had the fatal tidings yet convey'd.
Tell me then, thepherd, tell me, canst thou find
As long as thou art true, and she is kind,
A grief fo great, as may prevail above

Ev'n Damon's friendship, or Dorinda's love?
DAM. Sure there is none.

there may be.

THYR. But, Damon,

What if the charming Floriana die?

DAM. Far be the omen! THYR. But fuppofe it true? DAM. Then should I grieve, my Thyrfis, more

than you.


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