A WRETCH long tortured with disdain,
That hourly pined, but pined in vain,
At length the God of Wine addrest,
The refuge of a wounded breast.

"Vouchsafe, O Power, thy healing aid,

Teach me to gain the cruel maid;

Thy juices take the lover's part,

Flush his wan looks, and cheer his heart,"

Thus to the jolly God he cried,
And thus the jolly God replied:

"Give whining o'er, be brisk and gay,
And quaff this sneaking form away.

"With dauntless mien approach the fair;
The way to conquer is to dare."
The swain pursued the God's advice:
The nymph was now no longer nice.

She smiled, and spoke her sex's mind : "When you grow daring, we grow kind Men to themselves are most severe, And make us tyrants by their fear.”

CYNTHIA frowns whene'er I woo her,
Yet she's vex't if I give over;
Much she fears I should undo her,
But much more to lose her lover:

Thus in doubting she refuses,
And not winning thus she loses.

Pr'ythee, CYNTHIA, look behind you,
Age and wrinkles will o'ertake you,
Then too late desire will find you

does forsake you.

Think, oh! think, the sad condition

To be past, yet wish fruition.

CONGREVE.

LOVE's but the frailty of the mind When 'tis not with ambition join'd; A sickly flame, which if not fed expires, And, feeding, wastes in self-consuming fires.

'Tis

"T is not to wound a wanton boy,

Or amorous, youth, that gives the joy ; But 'tis the glory to have pierced a swain For whom inferior beauties sigh'd in vain.

Then I alone the conquest prize,

When I insult a rival's eyes ;

If there's delight in love, 't is when I see

The heart which others bleed for, bleed for me.

CONGREVE

FAIR AMORET is gone astray,

Pursue and seek her, every lover ; I'll tell the signs by which you may The wandering shepherdess discover,

Coquet and coy at once her air,

Both studied, tho' both seem neglected, Careless she is with artful care,

Affecting to seem unaffected.

With skill her eyes dart every glance,

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

Tho' certain aim and art direct 'em.

She

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.

CONGREVE.

GIVE

E me more love, or more disdain ;
The torrid or the frozen zone
Brings equal ease unto my pain ;

The temperate affords me none:
Either extreme of love or hate
Is sweeter than a calm estate.

Give me a storm: if it be love,
Like Danaë in her golden shower
I swim in pleasure; if it prove

Disdain, that torrent will devour
My vulture hopes; and he's possest
Of heaven that's but from hell releast.

Then crown my joys, or cure my pain;
Give me more love, or more disdain.

CAREW.

IN CHLORIS all soft charms agree,
Inchanting humour, powerful wit,
Beauty from affectation free,
And for eternal empire fit.
Where'er she goes love waits her eyes,
The women envy, men adore;
Tho', did she less the triumph prize,
She would deserve the conquest more.

But vanity so much prevails,

She begs what none else would deny her, Makes such advances with her eyes,

The hope she gives prevents desire;

Catches at every trifling heart,

Grows warm with every glimm'ring flame; The common prey so deads her dart, It scarce can pierce a noble game.

I could lie ages at her feet,

Adore her careless of my pain, With tender vows her rigours meet,

Despair, love on, and not complain;

My