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So, though I'm tofs'd by giddy Fortune's hand,
Ev'n to the confines of my native land;
Where I can hear the ftormy ocean roar,
And break its waves upon the foaming fhore:
Though from my Delia banish'd, all that's dear,
That's good, or beautiful, or charming here:
Yet flattering hopes encourage me to live,
And tell me Fate will kinder minutes give;
That the dark treasury of times contains
A glorious day, will finish all my pains:
And, while I contemplate on joys to come,
My griefs are filent, and my forrows dumb.
Believe me, nymph, believe me, charming fair,
(When truth's confpicuous, we need not swear;
Oaths will fuppofe a diffidence in you,
That I am falfe, my flame fictitious too)
Were I condemn'd by Fate's imperial power,
Ne'er to return to your embraces more,
I'd fcorn whate'er the bufy world could give;
'Twould be the worst of miferies to live:
For all my wishes and defires pursue,
All I admire, or covet here, is you.
Were I poffefs'd of your furprizing charms,
And lodged again within my Delia's arms;
Then would my joys afcend to that degree,
Could angels envy, they would envy me.

Oft, as I wander in a filent fhade,
When bold vexations would my foul invade,
I banish the rough thought, and none pursue,
But what inclines my willing mind to you.
The foft reflections on your facred love,
Like fovereign antidotes, all cares remove;
Compofing every faculty to reft,

They leave a grateful flavour in my breast.

Retir'd fometimes into a lonely grove,
I think o'er all the ftories of our love.
What mighty pleasure have I oft poffeft,
When, in a mafculine embrace, I preft
The lovely Delia to my heaving breast!
Then I remember, and with vaft delight,
The kind expreffions of the parting night;
Methought the fun too quick return'd again,
And day feem'd ne'er impertinent till then.
Strong and contracted was our eager blifs;
An age of pleasure in each generous kifs:
Years of delight in moments we compriz'd;
And heaven itself was there epitomiz'd.

But, when the glories of the eastern light
O'erflow'd the twinkling tapers of the night;
Farewell, my Delia, O farewell! faid I,
The utmost period of my time is nigh:
Too cruel Fate forbids my longer stay,
And wretched Strephon is compell'd away.
But, though I muft my native plains forego,
Forfake these fields, forfake my Delia too;
No change of fortune fhall for ever move
The fettled bafe of my immortal love.

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And must my Strephon, muft my faithful fwain, Be forc'd, you cry'd, to a remoter plain! The darling of my foul fo foon remov'd! The only valu'd, and the beft belov'd! Though other fwains to me themselves addrefs'd, Strephon was still diftinguish'd from the reft: Flat and infipid all their courtship feem'd; Little themselves, their paffions lefs, esteem'd:

For my averfion with their flames increas'd,
And none but Strephon partial Delia pleas'd.
Though I'm depriv'd of my kind fhepherd's fight,
Joy of the day, and bleffing of the night;
Yet will you, Strephon, will you love me ftill?
However, flatter me and fay you will.
For, fhould you entertain a rival love;
Should you unkind to me, or faithless prove;
No mortal e'er could half fo wretched be:
For fure no mortal ever lov'd like me.

Your beauty, nymph, faid I, my faith fecures;
Thofe you once conquer, must be always yours:
For, hearts fubdued by your victorious eyes,
No force can ftorm, no stratagem surprize;
Nor can I of captivity complain,

While lovely Delia holds the glorious chain.
The Cyprian queen, in young Adonis' arms,
Might fear, at leaft, he would defpife her charms;
But I can never fuch a monfter prove,
To flight the bleflings of my Delia's love.
Would thofe who at celeftial tables fit,
Bleft with immortal wine, immortal wit;
Choose to defcend to fome inferior board,
Which nought but fcum and nonsense can afford?
Nor can I e'er to thofe gay nymphs address,
Whose pride is greater, and whofe charms are lefs:
Their tinfel beauty may, perhaps, fubdue
A gaudy coxcomb, or a fulfome beau;
But feem at best indifferent to me,
Who none but you with admiration fee.

Now, would the rolling orbs obey my will,
I'd make the fun a fecond time ftand ftill,
And to the lower world their light repay,
When conquering Joshua robb'd them of a day :
Though our two fouls would different paflions prove;
His was a third of glory, mine of love.

It will not be; the fun makes hafte to rife,
And take poffeffion of the eastern skies;
Yet one more kifs, though millions are too few;
And, Delia, fince we must, must part, adieu.

As Adam, by an injur'd Maker driven
From Eden's groves, the vicinage of Heaven;
Compell'd to wander, and oblig'd to bear
The harsh impreffions of a ruder air;
With mighty forrow, and with weeping eyes,
Look'd back, and mourn'd the lofs of paradife:
With a concern like his I did review
My native plains, my charming Delia too;
For I left paradife in leaving you.

If, as I walk, a pleasant fhade I find,
It brings your fair idea to my mind:
Such was the happy place, I, fighing, say,
Where and Delia, lovely Delia, lay;
When first I did my tender thoughts impart,
And made a grateful prefent of my heart.
Or, if my friend, in his apartment, fhews
Some piece of Van Dyck's, or of Angelo's,
In which the artift has, with wondrous care,
Defcrib'd the face of one exceeding fair;
Though, at first figl, it may my paffion raife,
And every feature i admire and praife;
Yet ftill, methinks, upon a fecond view,
'Tis not fo beautiful, fo fair as you.

If I converse with thofe whom most admit
To have a ready, gay, vivacious, wit;
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They

They want fome amiable, moving grace,
Some turn of fancy that my Delia has:
For ten good thoughts amongst the crowd they vent,
Methinks ten thousand are impertinent.

Let other shepherds, that are prone to range,
With each caprice, their giddy humours change:
They from variety lefs joys receive,
Than you alone are capable to give.
Nor will I envy thofe ill-judging fwains
(What they enjoy 's the refufe of the plains)
If, for my share of happiness below,
Kind Heaven upon me Delia would bestow;
Whatever bleffings it can give befide,
Let all mankind among themselves divide.

A Paftoral Essay on the Death of Queen Mary, Anno 1694.

S gentle Strephon to his fold convey'd,

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COSMELIA.

In vain we with for the delightful fpring;
What joys can flowery May or April bring,
When the, for whom the fpacious plains were fpread
With early flowers and chearful greens, is dead?

A wandering lamb, which from the flocks had In vain did courtly Damon warm the earth,

ftray'd,

Beneath a mournful cypress fhade he found Cofmelia weeping on the dewy ground. Amaz'd, with eager hafte he ran to know The fatal caufe of her intemperate woe; And, clafping her to his impatient breaft, In these foft words his tender care expreft.

STREPHON.

Why mourns my dear Cofmelia? Why appears My life, my foul, diffolv'd in briny tears? Has fome fierce tiger thy lov'd heifer flain, White I was wandering on the neighbouring plain? Or, has fome greedy wolf devour'd thy fheep? What fad misfortune makes Cofmelia weep? Speak that I may prevent thy grief's increase, Partake thy forrows, or restore thy peace.

COSMELIA.

Do you not hear from far that mournful bell? 'Tis for I cannot the fad tidings tell. Oh, whither are my fainting spirits fled; 'Tis for Cæleftia-Strephon, Oh-She's dead! The brighteft nymph, the princefs of the plain, By an untimely dart, untimely flain!

STREPHON.

Dead! 'Tis impoffible! She cannot die : She 's too divine, too much a Deity: "Tis a falfe rumour fome ill fwains have spread, Who wish, perhaps, the good Cæleftia dead. COSMELIA.

Ah! No; the truth in every face appears; For every face you meet 's o'erflow'd with tears. Trembling, and pale, I ran through all the plain, From flock to flock, and afk'd of every swain, But each scarce lifting his dejected head, Cry'd, Oh, Cofmelia! Oh, Cæleftia's dead?

STREPHON.

Something was meant by that ill-boding croak Of the prophetic raven from the oak, Which ftrait by lightning was in fhivers broke, But we our mifchief feel, before we fee; Seiz'd and o'erwhelm'd at once with misery.

To give to fummer fruits a winter birth;

In vain we autumn wait, which crowns the fields With wealthy crops, and various plenty yields; Since that fair nymph, for whom the boundless fort Of nature was preferv'd, is now no more.

STREPHON.

Farewell for ever then to all that 's gay: You will forget to fing, and I to play. No more with chearful fongs, in cooling bowers, Shall we confume the pleasurable hours: All joys are banish'd, all delights are fled, Ne'er to return, now fair Cæleftia's dead.

COSMELIA.

If e'er I fing, they shall be mournful lays
Of great Cæleftia's name, Cæleftia's praife:
How good she was, how generous, how wife!
How beautiful her fhape, how bright her eyes!
How charming all; how much fhe was ador'd,
Alive; when dead, how much her lofs deplor'd!
A noble theme, and able to infpire

The humbleft Mufe with the fublimeft fire.
And fince we do of fuch a princess fing,
Let ours afcend upon a stronger wing;
And, while we do the lofty numbers join,
Her name will make the harmony divine.
Raife then thy tuneful voice; and be the fong
Sweet as her temper, as her virtue strong.

STREPHON.

When her great lord to foreign wars was gone And left Cæleftia here to rule aione; With how serene a brow, how void of fear, When storms arose, did fhe the veffel fteer! And when the raging of the waves did cease, How gentle was her fway in times of peace! Juftice and mercy did their beams unite, And round her tempies spread a glorious light; So quick the eas'd the wrongs of every swain, She hardly gave them leifure to complain: Impatient to reward, but flow to draw Th' avenging fword of necessary law: Like Heaven, fhe took no pleasure to destroy; With grief she punish'd, and she fav'd with joy. COSMELIA.

COSMELIA.

When godlike Belliger, from war's alarms, Return'd in triumph to Cæleftia's arms, She met her hero with a full defire; But chafte as light, and vigorous as fire: Such mutual flames, fo equally divine, Did in each breaft with fuch a luftre shine, His could not feem the greater, her's the lefs; Both were immenfe, for both were in excess.

STREP HON.

Oh, godlike princefs! Oh, thrice happy swains! Whilft the prefided o'er the fruitful plains! Whilft fhe, for ever ravish'd from our eyes, To mingle with the kindred of the skies, Did for your peace her conftant thoughts employ; The nymph's good angel, and the shepherd's joy!

COSMELIA.

All that was noble beautify'd her mind; There wisdom fat, with folid reafon join'd: There too did piety and greatness wait; Meeknefs on grandeur, modefty on ftate: Humble amidst the fplendors of a throne; Plac'd above all, and yet defpifing none. And when a crown was forc'd on her by fate, She with fome pains fubmitted to be great.

STREP HON.

Her pious foul with emulation ftrove To gain the mighty Pan's important love: To whofe mysterious rites the always came, With fuch an active, fo intenfe a flame; The duties of religion feem'd to be No more her care than her felicity.

COSMELIA.

Virtue unmix'd, without the leaft allay,
Pure as the light of a celeftial ray,
Commanded all the motions of the foul
With fuch a foft, but abfolute control,

That, as the knew what best great Pan would pleafe,
She ftill perform'd it with the greatest cafe.
Him for her high exemplar the defign'd,
Like him benevolent to all mankind.
Her foes the pity'd, not defir'd their blood;
And, to revenge their crimes, fhe did them good:
Nay, all affronts fo unconcern'd she bore,
(Maugre that violent temptation, Power)
As if the thought it vulgar to refent,
Or wifh'd forgiveness their worst punishment.

STREPHON.

Next mighty Pan, was her illuftrious lord, His high vicegerent, facredly ador'd: Him with fuch piety and zeal the lov'd, The noble paffion every hour improv'd: Till it afcended to that glorious height, 'Twas next (if only next) to infinite. This made her fo entire a duty pay, She grew at laft impatient to obey; And met his wishes with as prompt a zeal As an archangel his Creator's will.

COSMELIA.

Mature from Heaven, the fatal mandate came, With it a chariot of ethereal flame;

In which, Elijah like, the pafs'd the spheres; Brought joy to Heaven, but left the world in tears.

STREP HON.

Methinks I fee her on the plains of light, All glorious, all incomparably bright! While the immortal minds around her gaze On the exceffive fplendor of her rays; And fcarce believe a human foul could be Endow'd with fuch ftupendous majesty.

COSMELIA.

Who can lament too much! O, who can mourn Enough o'er beautiful Cæleftia's urn!

So great a lofs as this deferves excefs,
Of forrows; all 's too little that is lefs.
But, to fupply the univerfal woe,

Tears from all eyes, without ceffation, flow:
All that have power to weep, or voice to groan,
With throbbing breafts, Cæleftia's fate bemoan;
While marble rocks the common griefs partake,
And echo back thofe cries they cannot make.

STREPHON.

Weep then (once fruitful vales) and fpring with yew i
Ye thirsty, barren mountains, weep with dew!
Let every flower on this extended plain
Not droop, but fhrink into its womb again,
Ne'er to receive anew its yearly birth!

Let every thing that 's grateful leave the earth!
Let mournful cyprefs, with each noxious weed,
And baneful venoms, in their place fucceed!
Ye purling, querulous brooks, o'ercharg'd with grief,
Hafte fwiftly to the fea for more relief;

Then tiding back, each to his facred head,
Tell your astonish'd fprings, Cæleftia's dead!

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If in the body there was but one part
Subject to pain, and fenfible of fmart,
And but one paffion could torment the mind;
That part, that paffion, bufy fate would find:
But, fince infirmities in both abound,
Since forrow both fo many ways can wound:
'Tis not so great a wonder that we grieve
Sometimes, as 'tis a miracle we live.

The happieft man that ever breath'd on earth,
With all the glories of eftate and birth,
Had yet fome anxious care, to make him know,
No grandeur was above the reach of woe.
To be from all things that difquiet, free,
Is not confiftent with humanity.

Youth, wit, and beauty, are fuch charming things,.
O'er which, if affluence fpreads her gaudy wings,
We think the perfon who enjoys fo much,
No care can move, and no affliction touch;
Yet could we but fome fecret method find
To view the dark receffes of the mind,

We there might fee the hidden feed of ftrife,
And woes in embryo ripening into life:
How fome fierce luft, or boisterous paffion, fills
The labouring fpirit with prolific ills;
Pride, envy, or revenge, diftract the foul,
And all right reafon's godlike powers control;
But if the must not be allow'd to fway,
Though all without appears ferene and gay,
A cankerous venom on the vitals preys,
And poifons all the comforts of his days.

External pomp and vifible fuccefs
Sometimes contribute to our happiness;
But that which makes it genuine, refin'd,
Is a good confcience and a foul refign'd.
Then, to whatever end affliction 's fent,
To try our virtues, or for punishment,
We bear it calmly, though a ponderous woe,
And ftill adore the hand that gives the blow:
For, in misfortunes this advantage lies;
They make us humble, and they make us wife;
And he that can acquire fuch virtues, gains
An ample recompence for all his pains.

Too foft careffes of a profperous fate
The pious fervours of the soul abate;
Tempt to luxurious eafe our careless days,
And gloomy yapour round the fpirits raife.
Thus lull'd into a fleep, we dozing lie,
And find our ruin in fecurity;
Unlefs fome forrow comes to our relief,
And breaks th' inchantment by a timely grief.
But as we are allow'd, to chear our fight,
In blackest days, fome glimmerings of light;
So, in the most dejected hours we may
The fecret pleasure have to weep and pray:
And thofe requests the speedieft paffage find
To Heaven, which flow from an afflicted mind
And while to him we open our distress,
Our pains grow lighter, and our forrows lefs.
The finest music of the grove we owe
To mourning Philomel's harmonious woe;
And while her grief 's in charming notes exprefs'd,
A thorny bramble pricks her tender breaft;
In warbling melody the fpends the night,
And moves at once compafiion and delight,

No choice had e'er fo happy an event, But he that made it did that choice repent. So weak's our judgment, and so short's our fight, We cannot level our own wifhes right: And if fometimes we make a wife advance, T'ourselves we little owe, but much to chance. So that when Providence, for fecret ends, Corroding cares, or fharp affliction, fends; We must conclude it beft it should be fo, And not defponding or impatient grow. For he that will his confidence remove From boundless wisdom and eternal love, To place it on himself, or human aid, Will meet thofe woes he labours to evade. But, in the keenest agonies of grief, Content's a cordial that ftill gives relief: Heaven is not always angry when he ftrikes, But most chaftifes those whom moft he likes; And, if with humble fpirits they complain, Relieves the anguish, or rewards the pain.

TO ANOTHER FRIEND UNDER

S'

AFFLICTION.

INCE the first man by disobedience fell
An eafy conqueft to the powers of bell,
There's none in every ftage of life can be
From the infults of bold affliction free.
If a fhort refpite gives us fome relief,
And interrupts the series of our grief,
So quick the pangs of mifery return,
We joy by minutes, but by years we mourn.

Reafon refin'd, and to perfection brought,
By wife philofophy, and ferious thought,
Support the foul beneath the ponderous weight
Of angry stars, and unpropitious fate;
Then is the time the fhould exert her power,
And make us practice what the taught before.
For why are fuch voluminous authors read,
The learned labours of the famous dead,
But to prepare the mind for its defence,
By fage refults, and well-digefted fenfe;
That, when the storm of mifery appears,
With all its real or fantastic fears,
We either may the rolling danger fly,

Or stem the tide before it fweils too high.

But though the theory of wifdom's known
With eafe, what fhould, and what should not be done;
Yet all the labour in the practice lies,

To be, in more than words and notion, wife;
The facred truth of found philofophy
We study early, but we late apply.
When stubborn anguifh feizes on the foul,
Right reafon would its haughty rage control;
But, if it may n't be fuffer'd to endure,
The pain is juft, when we reject the cure.
For many men, clofe obfervation finds,
Of copious learning, and exalted minds,
Who tremble at the fight of daring woes,
And ftoop ignobly to the vileft foes;
As if they underftood not how to be
Or wife, or brave, but in felicity;
And by fome action, fervile or unjust,
Lay all their former glories in the duft.

Fot

For wisdom firft the wretched mortal flies,
And leaves him naked to his enemies:

So that, when moft his prudence should be shewn,
The most imprudent, giddy things are done.
For when the mind's furrounded with diftrefs,
Fear or inconftancy the judgment prefs,
And render it incapable to make
Wife refolutions, or good counfels take.
Yet there's a steadiness of foul and thought,
By reafon bred, and by religion taught,
Which, like a rock amidst the stormy waves,
Unmov'd remains, and all affliction braves.

In fharp misfortunes, fome will fearch too deep
What Heaven prohibits, and would fecret keep :
But thofe events 'tis better not to know,
Which known, ferve only to increase our woe.
Knowledge forbid ('tis dangerous to pursue)
With guilt begins, and ends with ruin too.
For, had our earlieft parents been content
Not to know more than to be innocent,
Their ignorance of evil had preferv'd
Their joys entire; for then they had not fwerv'd.
But they imagin'd (their defires were fuch)
They knew too little, till they knew too much.
E'er fince my folly most to wifdom rife;
And few are, but by fad experience, wife.

Confider, Friend! who all your bleffings gave, What are recall'd again, and what you have ;` And do not murmur when you are bereft Of little, if you have abundance left: Confider too, how many thousands are Under the worst of miferies, defpair; And do n't repine at what you now endure ; Cuftom will give you eafe, or time will cure: Once more confider, that the prefent ill, Though it be great, may yet be greater ftill; And be not anxious; for, to undergo One grief, is nothing to a numerous woe. But fince it is impoffible to be Human, and not expos'd to mifery, Bear it, my friend, as bravely as you can: You are not more, and be not less than man!

Afflictions paft can no exiftence find,
But in the wild ideas of the mind:

And why should we for these misfortunes mourn,
Which have been fuffer'd, and can ne'er return?
Those that have weather'd a tempestuous night,
And find a calm approaching with the light,
Will not, unless their reafon they difown,
Still make thofe dangers prefent that are gone.
What is behind the curtain none can fee;
It may be joy: fuppofe it mifery;
'Tis future ftill; and that which is not here,
May never come, or we may never bear.
Therefore the prefent ill alone we ought
To view, in reason, with a troubled thought:
But, if we may the facred pages truft,
He's always happy, that is always just.

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For in both thefe we may expect to find
A creeping fpirit, or a haughty mind.
Who moves within the middle region, shares
The leaft difquiets, and the finalleft cares.
Let her extraction with true luftre shine;
If fomething brighter, not too bright for thine:
Her education liberal, not great;

Neither inferior, nor above her ftate.

Let her have wit; but let that wit be free
From affectation, pride, and pedantry:
For the effect of woman's wit is fuch,
Too little is as dangerous as too much.
But chiefly let her humour clofe with thine;
Unless where yours does to a fault incline;
The leaft disparity in this deftroys,

Like fulphurous blafts, the very buds of joys.
Her perfon amiable, straight and free
From natural, or charice, deformity.
Let not her years exceed, if equal thine;
For women paft their vigor, foon decline:
Her fortune competent; and, if thy fight
Can reach fo far, take care 'tis gather'd right.
If thine's enough, then hers may be the lefs:
Do not afpire to riches in excefs.

For that which makes our lives delightful prove,
Is a genteel fufficiency and love.

TO A PAINTER DRAWING DORINDA'S PICTURE.

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AINTER, the utmost of thy judgment fhew;
Exceed ev'n Titian, and great Angelo:
With all the liveliness of thought exprefs
The moving features of Dorinda's face.
Thou canst not flatter, where fuch beauty dwells;
Her charms thy colours, and thy art, excells.
Others lefs fair, may from thy pencil have
Graces, which fparing Nature never gave:
But in Dorinda's aspect thou wilt fee
Such as will pose thy famous art, and thee;
So great, fo many in her face unite,
So well proportion'd, and fo wondrous bright,
No human skill can e'er express them all,
But muft do wrong to th' fair original.
An angel's hand alone the pencil fits,
To mix the colours when an angel fits.

Thy picture may as like Dorinda be
As art of man can paint a deity;
And justly may perhaps, when the withdraws,
Excite our wonder, and deferve applaufe:
But when compar'd, you'll be oblig'd to own,
No art can equal what's by Nature done.
Great LELY's noble hand, excell'd by few,
The picture fairer than the person drew:
He took the best that nature could impart,
And made it better by his powerful art.
But had he feen that bright, furprizing grace,
Which spreads itself o'er all Dorinda's face,
Vain had been all the effays of his skill;
She must have been confeft the fairest still.

Heaven in a landscape may be wondrous fine,
And look as bright as painted light can fhine;
But ftill the real glories of the place

All art, by infinite degrees, furpafs.

TO

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