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Cruel duty bids me go,

Gentle love commands me stay ;
Duty's still to love a foe,

Shall I this or that obey ?
Duty frowns, and Cupid smiles;
That defends, and this beguiles.

Ever by these crystal streams

I could sit and hear thee sigh ;
Ravisht with these pleasing dreams,

O'tis worse than death to fly :
But the danger is so great,
Fear gives wings, instead of hate.

Strephon, if you love me, leave me;

If you stay, I am undone ;
Oh! with ease you may deceive me;

Pri’thee, charming swain, be gone.
Heav'n decrees that we should part;
That has my vows, but you my heart.

When first I saw thee graceful move,

Ah me, what meant my throbbing breast? Say, soft confusion, art thou love?

If love thou art, then farewell rest !

Since doom'd I am to love thee, fair,

Tho' hopeless of a warm return, Yet kill me not with cold despair,

But let me live, and let me burn.

With gentle smiles assuage the pain

Those gentle smiles did first create; And, tho' you cannot love again,

In pity, oh! forbear to hate.

I did but look and love awhile,

'Twas but for one half-hour; Then to resist I had no will,

And now I have no power.

To sigh, to wish, is all my ease;

Sighs, which do heat impart Enough to melt the coldest ice,

Yet cannot warm your heart.

O! would your pity give my heart

A corner of your breast, "Twould learn of yours the winning art, And quickly steal the rest.

OTWAY. TO CUPID

ON TALENTINE'S DAY.

Come, thou rosy-dimpled boy,
Source of every heartfelt joy,
Leave the blissful bowers awhile,
Paphos and the Cyprian isle ;
Visit Britain's rocky shore,
Britons too thy power adore,
Britons, hardy, bold and free,
Own thy laws and yield to thee.
Source of every heartfelt joy,
Come, thou rosy-dimpled boy!

Haste to Sylvia, haste away,
This is thine and Hymen's day :
Bid her thy soft bondage wear,
Bid her for Love's rites prepare.
Let the nymphs with many a flower
Deck the sacred nuptial bower.
Thither lead the lovely fair,
And let Hymen too be there.
This is thine and Hymen's day,
Haste to Sylvia, haste away.

Only

Only while we love, we live,
Love alone can pleasure give.
Pomp, and power, and tinsel state,
Those false pageants of the great,
Crowns and sceptres, envied things,
And the pride of eastern kings,
Are but childish empty toys
When compared to love's sweet joys.
Love alone can pleasure give,
Only while we love, we live.

PARRAT.

Lesbia, live to love and pleasure,

Careless what the grave may say: When each moment is a treasure,

Why should lovers lose a day?

Setting suns shall rise in glory;

But when little life is o'er, There's an end of all the story;

We shall sleep, to wake no more.

Give me then a thousand kisses,

Twice ten thousand more bestow, Till the sum of boundless blisses Neither we, nor envy know. *

LANGHORN.

Wuen Fanny blooming fair

First caught my ravisht sight, Struck with her shape and air,

I felt a strange delight : Whilst eagerly I gazed,

Admiring every part, And every feature praised, She stole into my

heart.

In her bewitching eyes

Ten thousand loves appear ; There Cupid basking lies,

His shafts are hoarded there : Her blooming cheeks are dyed

With colour all their own, Excelling far the pride

Of roses newly blown.

From Catullus,

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