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With wild Inconftancy for all he burns,
And ev'ry Nymph fubdues his Soul by Turns.
At length a Maid fuperior to the reft,
Array'd in Smiles, in Virgin Beauty dreft,
Receiv'd his Paffion, and return'd his Love,
And foftly woo'd him to the filent Grove.
Enclos'd in deepest Shade of full-grown
Wood,

Within the Grove a spacious Grotto stood,
Where forty Youths in Marble seem'd to

mourn,

Each Youth reclining on a Funʼral Urn ; Thither the Nymph directs the Monarch's Way, He treads her Footsteps, joyful to obey; There, fir'd with Paffion, clafp'd her to his Breast,

And thus the Transport of his Soul confeft:
Delightful Beauty! deckt with ev'ry Charm
High Fancy paints, or glowing Love can form!
I figh! I gaze! I tremble! I adore !

Such lovely Looks ne'er blest my Sight before!
Here under Covert of th' embow'ring Shade,
For Love's Delights and tender Transports made,
No bufy Eye our Raptures to detect,
No envious Tongue to cenfure, or direct;
Here yield to Love, and tenderly employ
The filent Season in extatic Joy.

With Arms enclafp'd his Treasure to retain, He woo'd, and figh'd, but figh'd and woo'd in

vain ;

She

She rush'd indignant from his fond Embrace, While Rage with Blushes paints her lovely Face; Yet ftill he fues with fuppliant Hands and Eyes, While fhe to magic Charms for Vengeance flies.

A limpid Fountain murmur'd thro' the Cave, She fill'd her Palm with the tranflucent Wave, And fprinkling cry'd, Receive, false Man, in Time,

The juft Reward of thy detefted Crime.
Thy changeful Sex in Perfidy delight,
Despise Perfection, and fair Virtue flight;
Falfe, fickle, base, tyrannic, and unkind,
Whose Hearts nor Vows can chain, nor Honour
bind:

Mad to poffefs, by Paffion blindly led,
And then as mad to ftain the nuptial Bed;
Whofe roving Souls no Excellence, no Age,
No Form, no Rank, no Beauty can engage:
Slaves to the Bad, to the Deferving worst,
Sick of your twentieth Love, as of your first.
The Statues which this hallow'd Grot adorn,
Like thee were Lovers, and like thee forfworn,
Whose faithlefs Hearts no Kindness cou'd se-

cure,

Nor for a Day preserve their Paffion pure;
Whom neither Love nor Beauty cou'd reftrain,
Nor Fear of endless Infamy and Pain.
In me behold thy Queen! for know, with Eafe
The Deities affume each Form they please;

Nor

Nor can the feeble Ray of mortal Eyes
Perceive the latent Goddess in Disguise.
Now feel the Force of Heav'n's avenging Hand,
And here inanimate for ever stand.

She spoke amaz'd the lift'ning Monarch ftood,

And icy Horror froze his ebbing Blood,
Thick Shades of Death upon his Eye-lids creep,
And clos'd them faft in everlasting Sleep;
No Senfe of Life, no Motion he retains,
But fix'd, a dreadful Monument remains :
A Statue now, and if reviv'd once more,
Wou'd prove, no doubt, as perjur'd as before.

The African Prince, in England, to ZARA, at his Father's Court.

Rinces, my Fair, unfortunately great, Born to the pompous Vaffalage of State, Whene'er the Public calls, are doom'd to fly Domestic Blifs, and break the private Tie.

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Fame

* Capt. trafficking on the Coast of Africa, went up the Country, where he was introduced to a Moorish King, who had 40,000 Men under his Command. This Prince being taken with the polite Behaviour of the English, entertained them with the greatest Civility; and at last reposed such Confi

L

dence

Fame pays with empty Breath the Toils they bear,
And Love's foft Joys are chang'd for glorious
Care.

Yet confcious Virtue, in the filent Hour,
Rewards the Hero with a nobler Dower.
For this, alone, I dar'd the roaring Sea,
Yet more, for this I dar'd to part with thee.
But while my Bofom feels the nobler Flame,
Still unreprov'd, it owns thy gentler Claim.
Tho' Virtue's awful Form my Soul approves,
'Tis thine, thine only, Zara, that it loves.
A private Lot had made the Claim but one,
The Prince alone must Love, for Virtue, fhun.
Ah! why, diftinguish'd from the happier Crowd,
To me the Blifs of Millions difallow'd?
Why was I fingled for Imperial Sway,
Since Love and Duty point a diff'rent Way?

dence in the Captain, as to entrust him with his Son, about eighteen Years of Age, with another sprightly Youth, to be brought to England, and educated in the European Manner. The Captain received them with great Joy, and fair Treatment, but bafely fold them for Slaves; fhortly after he died, and the Ship coming to England, the Officers related the whole Affair ; on which the Government fent to pay their Ranfom, and they were brought to England, and put under the Care of the Right Hon. the Earl of Hallifax, firft Commiffioner of Trade and Plantations, who gave Orders for Cloathing and Educating them in a very genteel Manner. They were afterwards introduced to his Majesty, richly dreffed, in the European Manner, and were very graciously received. Soon after their Arrival here, the Prince, it is fuppofed, fent the following Epistle to his beloved Zara, at his Father's Court,

Fix'd the dreadVoyage, and the Day decreed, When, Duty's Victim, Love was doom'd to bleed, Too well my Mem'ry can thofe Scenes renew, We met to figh, to weep our laft Adieu.

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That conscious Palm, beneath whose tow'ring Shade,

So oft our Vows of mutual Love were made; Where Hope so oft anticipated Joy,

And plann'd of future Years the best Employ; That Palm was Witnefs to the Tears we fhed, When that fond Hope, and all thofe Joys were fled.

Thy trembling Lips, with trembling Lips I prefs'd,

And held thee panting, to my panting Breast.
Our Sorrow, grown too mighty to sustain,
Now fnatch'd us, fainting, from the Senfe of Pain.
Together finking in the Trance divine,
I caught thy fleeting Soul, and gave thee mine.
O! bleft Oblivion of tormenting Care!
O! why recall'd to Life and to Defpair?
The dreadful Summons came, to part-and why?
Why not the kinder Summons but to die?
To die together were to part no more,
To land in Safety on fome peaceful Shore,
Where Love's the Business of immortal Life,
And happy Spirits only guefs at Strife.

If, in some distant Land, my Prince should find "Some Nymph more fair, you cry'd, as Zara

"kind"

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Myf

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