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Dear CELIA! be kind then! and since your own eyes

By looks can command adoration ;
Give mine leave to talk too, and do not despise

Those oglings that tell you my Passion!

We'll look, and we'll love! and though neither should

speak, The pleasure we'll still be pursuing ! And so, without words, I don't doubt we may make

A very good end of this wooing!


'Grant me, gentle Love,' said I,
‘One dear blessing ere I die!
Long I've borne excess of pain;
Let me now some bliss obtain!'

Thus to almighty Love I cried;
When, angry, thus the God replied.
'Blessings greater none can have!
Art thou not AmyNTA's slave?
Cease, fond mortal! to implore;
For Love, Love himself, 's no more!'



Fair AMORET is gone astray!

Pursue and seek her, ev'ry Lover ! I'll tell the signs, by which you may

The wand'ring Shepherdess discover !

Coquet and coy at once her Air,

Both studied; though both seem neglected! Careless she is, with artful care;

Affecting to seem unaffected!

With skill, her eyes dart ev'ry glance;

Yet change so soon, you'd ne'er suspect them! For she'd persuade, they wound by chance;

Though certain aim and art direct them!

She likes herself; yet others hates

For that which in herself she prizes! And, while she laughs at them, forgets

She is the thing that she despises !


Love is a scion cropped from Virtue's tree, And grafted in the stock of Purity; Planted at first in Nature's choicest soil, Before the Fiend did Nature's beauty spoil : But thence transplanted to a richer ground Than can in all Dame Nature's realm be found; Where, being well manured, it takes deep root Downward, and branches upward forth doth shoot.

The sap, which doth this stately tree maintain, Is Sympathy: which runs, as in a vein, Through every branch; causing it first to sprout, And ere awhile, young tender buds spring out !

Nor is it barren; but much fruit doth bear, To taste most pleasing, and to sight most fair : A sound substantial fruit that can endure The sharpest frost, and yet continue pure. And that ye may this fruit the more admire, Take notice, that I call it Chaste Desire !

Why, lovely Charmer! tell me, Why So very kind; and yet so shy? Why does that cold forbidding Air Give damps of sorrow and despair ? Or why that smile, my soul subdue; And kindle up my flames anew ?

In vain, you strive, with all your art, By turns, to freeze, and fire, my heart! When I behold a face so fair, So sweet a look, so soft an Air; My ravished soul is charmed all o'er! I cannot love thee less, or more!

LET not Love on me bestow
Soft distress, and tender woe!
I know none but substantial blisses,
Eager glances, solid kisses !
I know not what the Lovers feign
Of finer pleasure mixed with pain !
Then, prithee, give me, gentle Boy!
None of thy grief; but all thy joy!

And sweetly smiles, and gaily talks;
A thousand shafts around her fly!
A thousand Swains, unheeded, die!

If then, she labours to be seen
With all her killing Air and mien;
From so much beauty, so much art,
What mortal can secure his heart!


From place to place forlorn I go,

With downcast eyes, a silent shade!
Forbidden to declare my woe ;

To speak till spoken to, afraid !

My inward pangs, my secret grief,

My soft consenting looks betray!
He loves; but gives me no relief!

Why speaks not he, who may ?

ME CUPID made a happy slave;

A merry wretched man!
I slight the Nymphs I cannot have!

Nor dote on those I can !

This constant maxim still I hold,

To baffle all despair,
The absent, ugly are and old ;

The present, young and fair.

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