Fits vulgar Love, and for a vulgar Man;
But I have lov'd with fuch tranfcendant Paffion,
J foar'd at firft quite out of Reason's View,
And now am lost above it.

Dryd. All for Love.

In Love what Ufe of Prudence can there be?

More perfect I, and yet more pow'rful she!
One Look of hers my Refolution breaks;
Reason itself turns Folly when she speaks:
And, aw'd by her whom it was made to sway,

(Inn.

Flatter's her Pow'r, and does its own betray. Dryd. State of
Does the mute Sacrifice upbraid the Priest?

He knows him not his Executioner.

Oh! fhe has deck'd his Ruin with her Love;
Led him, in golden Bands, to gawdy Slaughter,
And made Perdition pleafing.

Witness ye Pow'rs!

Dryd. All for Love.

How much I fuffer'd, and how much I ftrove:
But mighty Love, who Prudence does despise,
For Reason, fhew'd me Indamora's Eyes:
What would you more? My Crime I fadly view,
Acknowledge, am afham'd, and yet purfue.
For Love does human Policy defpife,

Dryd. Aur.

And laughs at all the Counfels of the Wife, D'Av. Circe.
For Lovers Hearts are not their own Hearts,

Nor Lights, nor Lungs, and fo forth, downwards. Hud.
Why fo pale and wan, fond Lover?

Prithee why fo pale?

Will, when looking well can't move her,

Looking Ill prevail?

Why fo dull and mute, young Sinner?

Prithee why so mute?

Will, when speaking well can't win her,

Saying nothing do't?

Quit, quit for Shame, this will not move,

This cannot take her;

If of herself she will not love,

Nothing can make her :

The Devil take her.

Tell me then the Reason why

Love from Hearts in Love does fly?
Why the Bird will build a Neft
Where he ne'er intends to reft?

Suck?.

Which, when gain'd in childish Play,
Wantonly are thrown away.
Still on Wing, or on his Knees,
Love does nothing by degrees:
Bafely flying when moft priz'd;
Meanly fawning when defpis'd;
Flatt'ring or infulting ever,
Generous and grateful never:
All his Joys are fleeting Dreams,
All his Woes fevere Extreams.

Oh Love how are thy precious sweetest Minutes

Thus ever crofs'd, thus vex'd with Difappointments!

Now Pride, now Fickleness, fantastick Quarrels,

And fullen Coldness, give us Pain by turns:
Malicious meddling Chance is ever bufy
To bring us Fears, Difquiets, and Delays;
And ev❜n at last, when, after all our Waiting,
Eager we think to fnatch our dear-bought Bliss,
Ambition calls us to its fullen Cares;

Roch

And Honour ftern, impatient of Neglect,.
Commands us to forget our Eafe and Pleasures;
As if we had been made for nought but Toil;
And Love were not the Bus'nefs of our Lives. Rowe Ulyff.
Ah! cruel Heav'n, that made no Cure for Love!

Love has no Bounds in Pleasure or in Pain.

What priestly Rites, alas! what pious Art,
What Vows avail to cure a bleeding Heart?
A gentle Fire fhe feeds within her Veins,
Where the foft God fecure in Silence reigns:
Sick with Defire, and feeking him she loves,
From Street to Street the raging Dido roves;
So when the watchful Shepherd, from the Blind,
Wounds, with a random Shaft, the careless Hind,
Distracted with her Pain, fhe flies the Woods,
Bounds o'er the Lawn, and feeks the filent Floods,
With fruitless Care; for ftill the fatal Dart

Sticks in her Side, and rankles in her Heart. Dryd. Virg.

Anger, in hafty Words or Blows,

It felf discharges on our Foes;

And Sorrow too finds fome Relief
In Tears which wait upon our Grief:
So ev❜ey Paffion, but fond Love,
Unto its own Redress does move:
But that alone the Wretch inclines
To what prevents his own Defigns;

Makes

Wall.

Makes him lament, and figh, and weep,
Disorder'd, tremble, fawn, and creep;
Poftures which render him despiss'd,
Where he endeavours to be priz'd.
But I must rowfe myself, and give a Stop
To all thofe Ills by headlong Paffion caus'd:
In Minds refolv'd, weak Love is put to Flight,
And only conquers when we dare not fight:
But we indulge our Harms, and, while he gains
An Entrance, please ourselves into our Pains.(Dryd.Sec.Love.
Rowse to the Combat,

And thou art fure to conquer: Wars fhall reftore thee:
The Sound of Arms fhall wake thy martial Ardour,
And cure this am'rous Sickness of thy Soul,
Begot by Sloth, and nurs'd by too much Eafe.
The idle God of Love fupinely dreams
Amidft inglorious Shades and purling Streams;
In rofy Fetters and fantastick Chains
He binds deluded Maids and fimple Swains:
With foft Enjoyments woos them to forget
The hardy Toils and Labours of the Great.
But if the warlike Trumpet's loud Alarms
To virtuous A&t excite, and manly Arms;
The coward Boy avows his abject Fear,
On filken Wings fublime he cuts the Air,
Scar'd at the noble Noife, and Thunder of theWar. Rowe.

Away, thou feeble God,

I banish thee my Bofom: Hence, I fay,

Be gone; or I will tear the Strings that hold thee,
And ftab thee in my Heart. The War's come on:

By Heav'n I'll drown thy laughing Deity

Tamerl.

(thrid.

In Blood, and drive thee with my brandifh'd Sword. Lee M¿-
Yes! I will shake this Cupid from my Arms,

If all the Rages of the Earth can fright him;
Drown him in the deep Bowl of Hercules;
Make the World drunk, and then, like Eolus,
When he gave Paffage to the ftruggling Winds,
I'll ftick my Spear into the reeling Globe,
To let it blood; fet Babylon in a blaze,

And drive this God of Flames with more confuming Fire.

(Lee Alex.

Falling

Falling in LO V E.

I came, I faw, and was undone !
Lightning did thro' my Bones and Marrow run;
A pointed Pain pierc'd deep my Heart;
A fwift cold Trembling feiz'd on ev'y Part;

My Head turn'd round, nor could it bear
The Poison that was enter'd there.

A Change fo fwift what Heart did ever feel?
It rufh'd upon me like a mighty Stream.
And bore me, in a Moment, far from Shore !
I've lov'd myself away in one fhort Hour ;
Already I am gone an Age of Paffion.

Was it his Youth, his Valour, or Success ?
Thefe might, perhaps, be found in other Men;
"Twas that Refpect, that awful Homage paid me,
That fearful Love which trembled in his Eyes,
And, with a filent Earthquake, fhook his Soul.
But, when he spoke, what tender Words he faid!
So foftly, that, like Flakes of feather'd Snow,
They melted as they fell.

Corul.

Dryd. Span. Fry. Thus anxious Fears already feiz'd the Queen; She fed within her Veins a Flame unfeen: The Hero's Valour, Acts, and Birth, inspire Her Soul with Love, and fan the fecret Fire. His Words, his Looks, imprinted in her Heart, Improve the Paffion, and increase the Smart. Dryd. Virg. His God-like Features, and his heav'nly Hue, And all his Beauties were expos'd to View; His naked Limbs the Nymph, with Rapture, fpies, While hotter Paffions in her Bofom rife,

Flush in her Cheeks, and sparkle in her Eyes.

She longs, fhe burns to clafp him in her Árms;

}

And looks, and fighs, and kindles at his Charms. Add.Ovid. I am not what I was, fince Yesterday;

My Food forfakes me, and my needful Rost :

I pine, I languish, love to be alone,

Think much, fpeak little, and, in fpeaking, figh:
When I fee Torri/mond, I am unquiet;

And when I fee him not, I am in Pain.
They brought a Paper to me to be fign'd:
Thinking on him, I quite forgot my Name,,
And writ, for Leonora, Torrifmond.

I went to Bed, and, to myself, I thought
VOL. II.

B

That

That I would think on Torrifmond no more;
Then fhut my Eyes, but could not fhut out him.
I turn'd, and try'd each Corner of my Bed,
To find if Sleep was there; but Sleep was loft:
Fev'rish for want of Ret, I rofe, and walk'd,
And by the Moon-fhine to the Windows went ;
There, thinking to exclude him from my Thoughts,
I caft my Eyes upon the neighb'ring Fields,.
And, ere I was aware, figh'd to myself,
There fought my Torrifmond.

Dryd. Span. Fry.
I'm pleas'd and pain'd fince firft her Eyes I faw,
As I were ftung with fome Tarantula :
Arms and the dufty Field I lets admire,
And foften ftrangely in fome new Defire;
Honour burns in me not fo fiercely bright,
But pale, as Fires when mafter'd by the Light.
Ev'n while I fpeak and look, I change yet more,
And now am nothing that I was before.

I'm numb'd and fix'd, and fcarce my Eye-balls move;
I fear it is the Lethargy of Love!

'Tis he! I feel him now in ev'ry Part;

Like a new Lord he vaunts about my Heart;
Surveys, in State, each Corner of my Breaft:
And now I'm all o'er Love!

He'ad got a Hurt

Dryd. Cong. of Gran.

On th' Infide, of a deadly Sort,

By Cupid made, who took his Stand
Upon a Widow's Jointure-Land;
Drew home his Bow, and, aiming right,
Let fly an Arrow at the Knight:
The Shaft against a Rib did glance,
And gaul'd him in the Purtenance.
O Love! O curfed Boy!

Hud

Where art thou that torment'st me thus unfeen,
And rageft with thy Fires within my Breast,
With idle Purpose to inflame her Heart,
Which is as inacceffible and cold
As the proud Tops of thofe afpiring Hills,
Whofe Heads are wrapt in everlasting Snow,
Tho' the hot Sun roll o'er them ev'ry Day;
And as his Beams, which only fhine above,
Scorch and confume in Regions round below;
So Love, which throws fuch Brightness thro' her Eyes,
Leaves her cold Heart, and burns me at her Feet.

My