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"Unlov'd, unloving, 'twas his fate to bleed;
"Without his quiver Cupid caus'd the deed:
"He judg'd this turn of malice justly due,
"And Hefiod dy'd for joys he never knew.


HEN thy beauty appears

In its graces and airs,


All bright as an Angel new dropt from the sky; At distance I gaze and am aw'd by my fears,

So ftrangely you dazzle my eye!

But when without art,

Your kind thoughts you impart,

When your love runs in blushes thro' every vein; When it darts from your eyes, when it pants in

your heart,

Then I know you're a woman again.


There's a paffion and pride

In our fex, fhe reply'd,

And thus, might I gratify:both, I would do: Still an Angel appear to each lover befide, But still be a woman to you.


HYRSIS, a young and am'rous fwain, Saw two, the Beauties of the plain; Who both his heart fubdue:

Gay Cælia's eyes were dazzling fair,
Sabina's easy shape and air

With fofter magick drew.

He haunts the ftream, he haunts the grove, Lives in a fond romance of love,

And feems for each to die; 'Till each a little spiteful grown, Sabina, Cælia's shape ran down, And the Sabina's eye.

Their envy made the fhepherd find
Those eyes which love could only blind;
So fet the lover free :

No more he haunts the grove or ftream,
Or with a true-love knot and name
Engraves a wounded tree.

Ah Cælia! fly Sabina cry'd,

Tho' neither love, we're both deny'd ;

Now to support the sex's pride,

Let either fix the dart.

Poor girl, fays Cælia, fay no more;
For fhou'd the fwain but one adore,

That spite which broke his chains before,
Wou'd break the other's heart.


Y days have been so wond'rous free,
The little birds that fly.


With careless eafe from tree to tree.

Were but as bless'd as I.


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Afk gliding waters, if a tear,

Of mine increas'd their ftream?

Or ask the flying gales, if e'er

I lent one figh to them?

But now my former days retire,

And I'm by beauty caught,

The tender chains of sweet defire

Are fix'd upon my thought.

Ye nightingales, ye twisting pines!

Ye fwains that haunt the grove!

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O teach a young, unpractis'd heart,

To make my Nancy mine.



The very thought of change I hate,
As much as of despair;

Nor ever covet to be great,
Unless it be for her.

'Tis true, the paffion in my mind
Is mix'd with soft diftress;
Yet while the Fair I love is kind,
I cannot wish it less.


HEN fpring came on with fresh delight,
To cheer the foul, and charm the fight,


While eafy breezes, softer rain,

And warmer funs falute the plain ;

'Twas then, in yonder piny grove, That Nature went to meet with Love.

Green was her robe, and green her wreath, Where-e'er fhe trod, 'twas green beneath.


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