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That Venus had confirm'd her equal reign,
And dealt to Emma's heart a fhare of Henry's pain.

While Cupid fmil'd, by kind occafion blefs'd,
And, with the fecret kept, the love increas'd;
The amorous youth frequents the filent groves;
And much he meditates, for much he loves.
He loves: 'tis true; and is belov'd again:
Great are his joys: but will they long remain?
Emma with smiles receives his present flame; 161
But, fmiling, will fhe ever be the fame?
Beautiful looks are rul'd by fickle minds;
And fummer feas are turn'd by fudden winds.
Another love may gain her eafy youth: 19165
Time changes thought; and flatt'ry conquers truth.

O impotent estate of human life!

Where hope and fear maintain eternal strife;
Where fleeting joy does lafting doubt inspire;
And most we question, what we most defire. 170
Amongst thy various gifts, great heav'n, bestow
Our cup of love unmix'd; forbear to throw
Bitter ingredients in; nor pall the draught
With nauseous grief: for our ill-judging thought
Hardly enjoys the pleasurable tafte;

Or deems it not fincere; or fears it cannot last.

With wishes rais'd, with jealoufies oppreft, (Alternate tyrants of the human breaft) By one great trial he refolves to prove

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The faith of woman, and the force of love. 180

If scanning Emma's virtues, he may find
That beauteous frame inclose a steady mind,
He'll fix his hope, of future joy fecure;
And live a flave to Hymen's happy pow'r.
But if the fair one, as he fears, is frail;
If, pois'd aright in reason's equal scale,
Light fly her merits, and her faults prevail;
His mind he vows to free from am'rous care,
The latent mifchief from his heart to tear,
Resume his azure arms, and shine again in war.

South of the castle, in a verdant glade,

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A fpreading beech' extends her friendly shade:
Here oft the nymph his breathing vows had heard;
Here oft her filence had her heart declar'd.
As active spring awak'd her infant buds,
And genial life inform'd the verdant woods;
Henry, in knots involving Emma's name,
Had half express'd and half conceal'd his flame
Upon the tree and, as the tender mark
Grew with the year, and widen'd with the bark,
Venus had heard the virgin's soft addrefs,
That, as the wound, the paffion might increase.
As potent nature thed her kindly show'rs,
And deck'd the various mead with op'ning flowers;
Upon this tree the nymph's obliging care
Had left a frequent wreath for Henry's hair;
Which as with gay delight the lover found,
Pleas'd with his conqueft, with her prefent crown'd,

V. 192. beach.

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Glorious thro' all the plains he oft had gone,
And to each fwain the mystic honour shown;
The gift ftill prais'd, the giver ftill unknown.

His fecret note the troubled Henry writes; To the known tree the lovely maid invites : Imperfect words and dubious terms exprefs, That unforeseen mischance disturb'd his peace; That he must something to her ear commend, 216 On which her conduct, and his life depend.

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Soon as the fair-one had the note receiv'd, The remnant of the day alone she griev'd: For diff'rent this from every former note, Which Venus dictated, and Henry wrote; Which told her all his future hopes were laid On the dear bofom of his Nut-brown Maid; Which always blefs'd her eyes, and own'd her pow'r ;

And bid her oft adieu, yet added more.

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Now night advanc'd. The house in fleep were laid:
The nurse experienc'd, and the prying maid;
At last that sprite, which does incessant haunt
The lovers steps, the ancient maiden aunt.
To her dear Henry Emma wings her way,
With quicken'd pace repairing forc'd delay;
For Love, fantastic power, that is afraid
To ftir abroad 'till watchfulness be laid,
Undaunted then, o'er cliffs and valleys ftrays,
And leads his vot'ries safe thro' pathless ways.

Not Argus with his hundred eyes shall find 236 Where Cupid goes; tho' he, poor guide, is blind.

The maiden, first arriving, fent her eye To afk, if yet its chief delight were nigh: With fear, and with defire, with joy and pain, She fees, and runs to meet him on the plain. 241 But oh! his steps proclaim no lover's haste; On the low ground his fix'd regards are cast; His artful bofom heaves diffembl❜d fighs;

And tears fuborn'd fall copious from his eyes. 245

With ease, alas! we credit what we love :
His painted grief does real forrow move
In the afflicted fair; adown her cheek

Trickling the genuine tears their current break;
Attentive ftood the mournful nymph: the man
Broke filence firft: the tale alternate ran:

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HENRY.

Sincere, O tell me, haft thou felt a pain, Emma, beyond what woman knows to feign? Has thy uncertain bofom ever ftrove

With the firft tumults of a real love?

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Haft thou now dreaded, and now bleft his sway,
By turns averfe, and joyful to obey ?
Thy virgin foftnefs haft thou e'er bewail'd,
As reafon yielded, and as love prevail'd?
And wept the potent god's refiflefs dart,
His killing pleafure, his ecftatic fmart,
And heav'nly poifon thrilling thro' thy heart?

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If fo, with pity view my wretched state;

At least deplore, and then forget my fate :

To fome more happy knight reserve thy charms,
By fortune favour'd, and successful arms:
And only, as the fun's revolving ray

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Brings back each year this melancholy day,

Permit one figh, and fet apart one tear,

To an abandon'd exile's endless care.
For me, alas! out-caft of human race,
Love's anger only waits, and dire difgrace;
For lo! thefe hands in murther are imbru'd;
These trembling feet by justice are pursu'd:
Fate calls aloud, and haftens me away;
A fhameful death attends my longer stay;

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And I this night muft fly from thee and love, Condemn'd in lonely woods, a banish'd man to rove.

EMMA.

What is our blifs, that changeth with the moon;
And day of life, that darkens e'er 'tis noon? 280
What is true paffion, if unblest it dies ?
And where is Emma's joy, if Henry flies?
If love, alas! be pain; the pain I bear

No thought can figure, and no tongue declare.
Ne'er faithful woman felt, nor falfe one feign'd,
The flames which long have in my bofom reign'd:
The god of love himself inhabits there,
With all his rage, and dread, and grief, and care,
His complement of flores, and total war.

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