Devouring flames require new food;

My heart's consum'd almost: New fires must kindle in her blood, Or mine go out, and that 's as good.

ALEXIS

Would'st live when love is lost? Be dead before thy passion dies; For if thou should'st survive, What anguish would thy heart surprise, To see her flames begin to rise, And thine no more alive?

STREPHON.

Rather what pleasure should I meet
In my triumphant scorn,

To see my tyrant at my feet;
While, taught by her, unmov'd I sit
A tyrant in my turn.

ALEXIS.

Ungentle shepherd! cease, for shame, Which way can you pretend

To merit so divine a flame,

Who to dull life make a mean claim,
When love is at an end?

As trees are by their bark embrac❜d,
Love to my soul doth cling;
When torn by the herd's greedy taste,
The injur'd plants feel they 're defac'd,
They wither in the spring.

My rifled love would soon retire,

Dissolving into air,

Should I that nymph cease to admire,
Bless'd in whose arms I will expire,
Or at her feet despair.

THE ADVICE.

ALL things submit themselves to your command,
Fair Cælia, when it does not Love withstand:
The power it borrows from your eyes alone,
All but the god must yield to, who has none.
Were he not blind, such are the charms you have,
He'd quit his godhead to become your slave:
Be proud to act a mortal hero's part,
And throw himself for fame on his own dart.
But Fate has otherwise dispos'd of things,
In different bands subjected slaves and kings:
Fetter'd in forms of royal state are they,
While we enjoy the freedom to obey.
That Fate, like you, resistless does ordain
To Love, that over Beauty he shall reign.
By harmony the universe does move,
And what is harmony but mutual love?
Who would resist an empire so divine,
Which universal Nature does enjoin?
See gentle brooks, how quietly they glide,
Kissing the rugged banks on either side;
While in their crystal streams at once they show,
And with them feed the flowers which they bestow:
Though rudely throng'd by a too near embrace,
In gentle murmurs they keep on their pace
To the lov'd sea; for streams have their desires;
Cool as they are, they feel Love's powerful fires,
And with such passion, that if any force
Stop or molest them in their amorous course,

They swell, break down with rage, and ravage o'er
The banks they kiss'd, and flowers they fed before.
Submit then, Cælia, ere you be reduc'd,
For rebels, vanquish'd once, are vilely us'à.
Beauty 's no more but the dead soil, which Love
Manures, and does by wise Commerce improve:
Sailing by sighs, through seas of tears, he sends
Courtships from foreign hearts, for your own ends:
Cherish the trade, for as with Indians we
Get gold and jewels, for our trumpery,
So to each other, for their useless toys,
Lovers afford whole magazines of joys.

But, if you 're fond of baubles, be, and starve,
Your gewgaw reputation still preserve:
Live upon modesty and empty fame,
Foregoing sense for a fantastic name.

"Honour's got in, and keeps her heart,

Durst he but venture once abroad, In my own right I'd take your part, And show myself a mightier god." This huffing Honour domineers

In breasts, where he alone has place: But if true generous Love appears,

The hector dares not show his face. Let me still languish and complain, Be most inhumanly deny'd:

I have some pleasure in my pain,
She can have none with all her pride.
I fall a sacrifice to Love,

She lives a wretch for Honour's sake. Whose tyrant does most cruel prove,

The difference is not hard to make. Consider real Honour then,

You'll find hers cannot be the same; "Tis noble confidence in men,

In women mean mistrustful shame.

THE DISCOVERY.

CELIA, that faithful servant you disown,
Would in obedience keep his love his own:
But bright ideas, such as you inspire,
We can no more conceal than not admire.

My heart at home in my own breast did dwell,
Like humble hermit in a peaceful cell:
Unknown and undisturb'd it rested there,
Stranger alike to Hope and to Despair.
Now Love with a tumultuous train invades
The sacred quiet of those hallow'd shades;
His fatal flames shine out to every eye,
Like blazing comets in a winter sky.
How can my passion merit your offence,
That challenges so little recompense?
For I am one born only to admire,
Too humble e'er to hope, scarce to desire.
A thing, whose bliss depends upon your will,
Who would be proud you'd deign to use him ill.
Then give me leave to glory in my chain,
My fruitless sighs, and my unpity'd pain.
Let me but ever love, and ever be
Th' example of your power and cruelty.
Since so much scorn does in your breast reside,
Be more indulgent to its mother, Pride.
Kill all you strike, and trample on their graves;
But own the fates of your neglected slaves:
When in the crowd yours undistinguish'd lies
You give away the triumph of your eyes.
Perhaps (obtaining this) you 'll think I find
More mercy, than your anger has design'd:
But Love has carefully design'd for me,
The last perfection of misery,

For to my state the hopes of common peace,
Which every wretch enjoys in death, must cease,
My worst of fates attend me in my grave,
Since, dying, I must be no more your slave.

WOMAN'S HONOUR.

A SONG.

Love bid me hope, and I obey'd;

Phillis continued still unkind:

"Then you may e'en despair," he said, "In vain I strive to change her mind.

GRECIAN KINDNESS.

A SONG.

THE utmost grace the Greeks could show, When to the Trojans they grew kind, Was with their arms to let them go,

And leave their lingering wives behind. They beat the men, and burnt the town; Then all the baggage was their own. There the kind deity of wine

Kiss'd the soft wanton god of love; This clapp'd his wings, that press'd his vine And their best powers united move, While each brave Greek embrac'd his punk, Lull'd her asleep, and then grew drunk.

THE MISTRESS.

A SONG.

AN age, in her embraces past,

Would seem a winter's day;
Where life and light, with envious haste,
Are torn and snatch'd away.

But, oh! how slowly minutes roll,
When absent from her eyes;
That fed my love, which is my soul
It languishes and dies.

For then, no more a soul but shade,
It mournfully does move;

And haunts my breast, by absence made
The living tomb of love.

You wiser men despise me not;

Whose love-sick fancy raves,

On shades of souls, and Heaven knows what; Short ages live in graves.

Whene'er those wounding eyes, so full

Of sweetness you did see,

Had you not been profoundly dull,
You had gone mad like me.

Nor censure us, you who perceive My best-belov'd and me,

Sigh and lament, complain and grieve;
You think we disagree.

Alas! 'tis sacred jealousy,

Love rais'd to an extreme;
The only proof, 'twixt them and me,
We love, and do not dream.
Fantastic fancies fondly/move,
And in frail joys believe:
Taking false pleasure for true love;
But pain can ne'er deceive.
Kind jealous doubts, tormenting fears,
And anxious cares, when past,

Prove our heart's treasure fix'd and dear,
And make us bless'd at last.

So sweet a face, so soft a heart,
Such eyes so very kiud,
Betray, alas! the silly art
Virtue had ill design'd.

Poor feeble tyrant! who in vain
Would proudly take upon her,
Against kind Nature to maintain
Affected rules of Honour.

The scorn she bears so helpless proves,
When I plead passion to her,

That much she fears (but more she loves)
Her vassal should undo her.

A SONG.

ABSENT from thee I languish still;
Then ask me not, When I return?
The straying fool 't will plainly kill,
To wish all day, all night to mourn.
Dear, from thine arms then let me fly,
That my fantastic mind may prove
The torments it deserves to try,

That tears my fix'd heart from my love. When wearied with a world of woe

To thy safe bosom I retire,

Where love, and peace, and truth, does flow:
May I contented there expire!

Lest, once more wandering from that heaven,
I fall on some base heart unblest;
Faithless to thee, false, unforgiven,
And lose my everlasting rest.

LOVE AND LIFE.

A SONG.

ALL my past life is mine no more,
The flying hours are gone:
Like transitory dreams given o'er,
Whose images are kept in store
By memory alone.

The time that is to come is not;
How can it then be mine?
The present moment 's all my lot;
And that, as fast as it is got,
Phillis, is only thine.

Then talk not of inconstancy,

False hearts, and broken vows; If I, by miracle, can be This live-long minute true to thee, 'Tis all that Heaven allows.

A SONG

PAILLIS, be gentler, I advise,
Make up for time mis-spent,
When Beauty on its death-bed lies,
'Tis high time to repent.

Such is the malice of your fate,

That makes you old so soon; Your pleasure ever comes too late, How early e'er begun.

Think what a wretched thing is she,
Whose stars contrive, in spite,
The morning of her love should be
Her fading beauty's night.
Then if, to make your ruin more,
You'll peevishly be coy,
Die with the scandal of a whore,
And never know the joy.

TO CORINNA.

A SONG.

WHAT Cruel pains Corinna takes,

To force that harmless frown; When not one charm her face forsakes. Love cannot lose his own.

A SONG.

WHILE on those lovely looks I gaze,
To see a wretch pursuing,

In raptures of a bless'd amaze,

His pleasing happy ruin: 'Tis not for pity that I move;

His fate is too aspiring,

Whose heart, broke with a load of love, Dies wishing and admiring,

But if this murder you 'd forego,

Your slave from death removing ;
Let me your art of charming know,
Or learn you mine of loving.
But, whether life or death betide,
In love 'tis equal measure;
The victor lives with empty pride,
The vanquish'd die with pleasure.

A SONG.

To this moment a rebel, I throw down my arms,
Great Love, at first sight of Olinda's bright charms:
Made proud and secure by such forces as these,
You may now play the tyrant as soon as you please.
When innocence, beauty, and wit, do conspire
To betray, and engage, and inflame my desire;
Why should I decline what I cannot avoid,
And let pleasing Hope by base Fear be destroy'd?