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Sent in this foul clime to languish,
Think what thousands fell in vain,
Wafted with disease and anguish, '
Not in glorious battle flain.

Hence with all my train attending
From their oozy tombs below,
Thro' the hoary foam ascending,
Here I feed my constant woe:
Here the Bastimentos viewing,

We recal our shameful doom,
And our plaintive cries renewing,
Wander thro' the midnight gloom.

O'er thefe waves for ever mourning
Shall we roam depriv'd of reft,

If to Britain's fhores returning
You neglect my just request;
After this proud foe fubduing,
When your patriot friends you fee,
Think on vengeance for my ruin,
And for England fham'd in me.

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Be fhee fairer than the day,

Or the flowry meads in May;

If the think not well of me,

What care I how faire fhe be?

Shall my heart be griev'd or pin'd,
'Cause I see a woman kind?
Or a well-disposed nature
Joyned with a lovely feature?
Be fhee meeker, kinder, than
The turtle-dove or pelican;

If thee be not fo to me,

What care I how kind fhee bef

Shall a woman's virtues move
Me, to perish for her love?
Or, her well-defervings knowne,
Make me quite forget my owne?
Be fhee with that goodneffe bleft,
Which
may merit name of Beft;

If the be not fuch to me,
What care I how good she be?

'Caufe her fortune feems too high,
Shall I play the foole and dye?
Those that beare a noble minde,

Where they want of riches finde,

Thinke what with them they would doe,
That without them dare to wooe;

And, unleffe that minde I fee,
What care I, though great thee be?

Great

Great or good, or kind or faire,
I will ne'er the more difpaire:
If the love me, this beleeve,
I will die ere she shall grieve;
If fhe flight me, when I wooe;
I can fcorne and let her goe:

For, if fhee be not for me,

What care I for whom shee be?

THE STEDFAST SHEPHERD.

BY THE SAME.

ENCE away, you Syrens, leave me,

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And unclafpe your wanton armes ;

Sugred words fhall ne'er deceive me,

(Though 'you' prove a thousand charmës).
Fie, fie, forbeare;

No common fnare

Could ever my affection chaine :

Your painted baits

And poore deceits,

Are all bestowed on me in vain.

I'm no flave to fuch as you be;

Neither shall a fnowy breft,

Wanton eye, or lip of ruby

Ever rob me of my
Goe, goe, difplay
Your beautie's ray

reft;

Το

To some ore-soone enamour'd swaine:

Those common wiles

Of fighs and smiles
Are all bestowed on me in vaine,

I have elsewhere vowed a dutie;

Turn away your' tempting eyes :
Shew not me a naked beautie;

Those impostures I despise :

My fpirit lothes

Where gawdy clothes
And fained othes may love obtaine :

I love her so

Whose looke swears No;
That all your labours will be vaine.

I can goe

Can he prize the tainted pofies,

Which on every brest are worne;
That may plucke the spotlesse roses
From their never-touched thorne ?

rest
On her sweet brest,
That is the pride of Cynthia's traine :

Then hold your tongues ;

Your mermaid songs
Are all bestowed on me in vaine.

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Hee's a foole, that basely dallies,

Where each peasant mates with him ;
Shall I haunt the thronged vallies,
Whilft ther's noble hills to climbe?

I

No,

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I doe fcorne to vow a dutie,

Where each luftfull lad may woe

Give me her, whofe fun-like beautie
Buzzards dare not foare unto:
Shee, fhee it is

Affords that bliffe

For which I would refuse no paine:
But fuch as you,

Fond fooles, adieu;

You feeke to captive me in vaine.

Leave me then, you Syrens, leave me ;

Seeke no more to worke my harmes :

Craftie wiles eannot deceive me,

Who am proofe against your charmes :
You labour may

To lead aftray

The heart, that constant shall remaine :
And I the while

Will fit and fmile

To fee you spend your time in vaine.

AUTUMN.

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