Hail Mighty Prince! whom Heaven has design’d

To be the chief Delight of human kind:

So many Vertues croud your Breast, that we

Do almost question your Mortality:

Sure all the Planets that o’re Vertue Reigns,

Shed their best Influence in your Royal Veins:

You are the Glory of Monarchial Pow’rs,

In Bounties free as are descending Show’rs,

Fierce as a Tempest when ingag’d in War,

In Peace more mild than tender Virgins are;

In pitying Mercy, you not imitate

The Heavenly Pow’rs, but rather Emulate.

None but your Self, your Suffrings could have born

With so much Greatness, such Heroick Scorn:

When hated Traytors do your Life persue,

And all the World is fill’d with cares for you;

When every Loyal Heart is sunk with Fear,

Your Self alone doth unconcern’d appear;

Your Soul within, still keeps it’s lawful State,

Contemns and dares the worst effects of Fate;

As the bright Majesty shot from your Eye,

Aw’d your tame Fate, and rul’d your Destiny.

Though your undaunted Soul bear you thus high,

Your solid Judgment sees there’s danger nigh;

Which with such Care and Prudence you prevent,

As if you fear’d not, but would cross th’ Event.

Your Care so nobly looks, it doth appear

’Tis for your Subjects, not your Self you fear:

Heaven! make this Princes Life your nearst care,

That does so many of your Vertues share:

If Monarchs in their Actions copy you,

This is the nearest piece you ever drew:

Blast every Hand that dares to be so bold,

An impious Weapon ’gainst his Life to hold:

Burst every Heart that dares but think him ill;

Their guilty Souls with so much Terrour fill,

That of themselves they may their Plot unfold,

And live no longer than the Tale is told:

Safe in your Care, all else will needless prove,

Yet keep him safe too in his Subjects love.

Your Subjects view you with such Loyal eyes,

They know not how they may their Tresure prize:

Were you defenceless, they would round you fall,

And Pile their Bodies to build up a Wall.

Were you distress’d, ’twould move a gen’rous strife,

Who first should loose his own, to save your Life.

But since kind Heaven these dangers doth remove,

Wee’l find out other ways t’ express our Love.

Wee’l force the Traytors all, their Souls resign,

To Herd with him that taught them their Design.

When I heard Sheldon had to Fate resign’d,

A sudden Consternation seiz’d my Mind,

Senseless I stood, the dangerous Surprize

Kept back the Pious Tribute of my Eyes:

And tho no words can e’re my Grief express,

Yet by their own, all may judge it’s Excess:

For when so good, so great a Prelate falls,

The World must Celebrate his Funerals:

And not a man in the vast Universe,

But sends a Bleeding Heart t’ attend his Herse:

To tell his Vertues would whole Volumes ask,

And were a Seraph’s, not a Womans task.

Over his Flock, so tenderly Austere,

He taught them both at once, to Love and Fear;

So strictly Pious, that to all that knew

His holy life, his Precepts needless grew.

Despis’d Religion did so Beauteous seem

In this blest Saint, it rais’d its first Esteem:

His head, a Receptacle did contain

More Learning than the world can boast again.

He made his Wealth and large Possessions be,

But humble Handmaids to his Charitie;

Which was so great, it might be truly said,

That by his Death the Poor were Orphans made:

When ugly Treason flourisht highest, he

Spight of the danger, own’d his Loyalty.

With joy he suffer’d for the Church and State,

And bore with ease the weightiest stroaks of Fate.

Stop! stop a while! fierce Rapture choaks my words,

And no expression to my Thoughts affords:

I am all admiration! and as well

Some heavenly Vision, as his Worth might tell.

Strephon I saw, and started at the sight,

And interchangably look’d red and white;

I felt my Blood run swiftly to my heart,

And a chill Trembling seize each outward part:

My Breath grew short, my Pulse did quicker beat,

My Heart did heave, as it wou’d change its Seat:

A faint cold Sweat o’re all my Body spread,

A giddy Megrim wheel’d about my head:

When for the reason of this change I sought,

I found my Eyes had all the mischief wrought;

For they my Soul to Strephon had betray’d,

And my weak heart his willing Victim made:

The Traytors, conscious of the Treason

They had committed ’gainst my Reason,

Look’d down with such a bashful guilty Fear,

As made their Fault to every Eye appear.

Tho the first fatal Look too much had done,

The lawless wanderers wou’d still gaze on,

Kind Looks repeat, and Glances steal, till they

Had look’d my Liberty and Heart away:

Great Love, I yield; send no more Darts in vain,

I am already fond of my soft Chain;

Proud of my Fetters, so pleas’d with my state,

That I the very Thoughts of Freedom hate.

O Mighty Love! thy Art and Power joyn,

To make his Frozen breast as warm as mine;

But if thou try’st, and can’st not make him kind,

In Love such pleasant, real Sweets I find;

That though attended with Despair it be,

’Tis better still than a wild Liberty.

Passion’s force compels me now to write,

And aggravates the wrongs I fain wou’d slight:

They to my Soul in such loud clamours speak,

That Reason to resist them is too weak:

First Rage, or Anger, (call it which you please)

Whispers my Soul, bear such affronts as these?

Can your great Mind be unconcern’d, when you

With your own Eyes did such a passage view?

Can you with Patience hear him say, he dare

Not stir from thence while that fond Fool is there?

Oh! where is all your former Greatness gone?

You in this Act the Stoicks have out done:

He calls you fond, and kind, but let him see

You can disdain such petty things as he:

Thus Anger counsel’d me to do, - - - - but when

I strove to obey her Dictats, ah! then

Something like Pitty in your Cause did plead,

And my faint Anger did in Triumph lead:

Shame pleaded next, and mildly did request,

She might not quite be exil’d from my brest,

Which she must be, if I shou’d entertain

But the least Thought of loving you again;

For when first notice of the words I took,

Such heat and blood into my Face it struck,

My self cou’d hardly tell for what it came,

Whether I blush’d for Anger or for Shame:

But when your face I saw, I straight grew cold,

I started, trembl’d, and my Eye-balls roul’d:

The breath I had scarce serv’d me to retire,

E’re in a Swound I gently did expire.

But my high Thoughts, and too too gen’rous Flame,

Scorn’d to be curbed by a needless Shame:

Hate pleaded next, fiercer than all the rest,

And yet a greater stranger to my brest;

For my calme brest, till now was ne’re the Seat

Of Surly Passion, or unruly Heat,

Hate urg’d, each Action look’d as done in scorn,

Then asked if I to bear affronts was born:

This and much more She said, but all in vain,

Ill thoughts of you I ne’re cou’d entertain;

Your great Affronts, I witty Jests did think,

And at coy Looks would turn my head, or wink:

Nay, when you gave such proofs of your Disdain,

That I must see’t, I gav’t another Name;

I only thought you saw me go astray,

And generously put me in my way.

How strangely is my Life perplex’d by fate!

I wou’d not Love, and yet I cannot hate.

Farewel my dearer half, joy of my heart,

Heaven only knows how loth I am to part:

Whole Months but hours seem, when you are here,

When absent, every Minute is a Year:

Might I but always see thy charming Face,

I’de live on Racks, and wish no easier place.

But we must part, your Interest says we must;

Fate, me no longer with such Treasure trust.

I wou’d not tax you with Inconstancy,

Yet Strephon, you are not so kind as I:

No Interest, no nor Fate it self has pow’r

To tempt me from the Idol I adore:

But since you needs will go, may Africk be

Kinder to you, than Europe is to me:

May all you meet and every thing you view

Give you such Transport as I met in you.

May no sad thoughts disturb your quiet mind,

Except you’l think of her you left behind.

Sir, by your Merit led, to you I bring

A Laurel-wreath, but ’tis too mean a thing

For your high Worth and Parts, which we

In vain wou’d Blazon by such Herauldry:

For Laurel, Palme, and Olive, may set forth

Our Love to you, but not express your worth;

Which doth exceed these humble types, as far

As Titans Rays out shine a twinkling Star:

I’le say no more, lest while I make You best,

I seem Injurious to all the rest

Of this fair Company, who do all by me

Chuse you their Steward, and unanimously

Intreat your care, to make their Club to be

For Honour and Grandure, The Society.

Dear Object of my Love! didst thou but know

The Tortures, that I daily undergo

For thy dear sake, thou sure woud’st be so kind,

To weep the Troubles that invade my mind;

I need not tell thee that I dearly love,

No, all my Actions will my Passion prove:

For thee I’ve left the wise, the great, the good,

And on my Vows, not my Preferment stood.

Think then, dear Strephon, how unkind thou art,

To prove the Torturer of that tender heart,

That chose thee out to be its chief Delight,

And knows no real Joy but in thy sight.

Since first thy Courtship me to Love inclin’d,

Thou ne’re hast been one hour out of my mind.

How tedious then must thy long absence be

To her, that wishes nothing else to see,

And lives not, but when in thy Company?

Haste then dear Love! for if thou longer stay,

My Griefs will make me sigh my Soul away.

If, as you say, you Love Varietie,

We have some hopes, that you so kind will be

To the poor Play, to give it your Applause,

Though not for Wit, nor Worth, but yet because

A Woman wrote it; though it be not rare,

It is not common. Women seldom dare

To reach so high, to entertain your Ears,

Which strikes our Poets with a thousand fears

Of your displeasure; yet some little Ray

Of hope is left; for womens Pardons may

Be gain’d with ease surely from Gentlemen;

Be kind for once then to a Female Pen.

She hopes too, the great Wits, who croud the Age,

Censure the Poets, and undo the Stage,

Won’t undervalue so their mighty Wit,

To Criticize on what a Woman writ:

Yet if you’l have it so, it shall be Naught,

They that dislike, are welcome to find Fault;

For She protests, She had no other ends

In writing this, than to divert her Friends:

She scornes such Baseness, therefore will not sue:

But yet, bright Ladies, does submit to you;

Your Smiles may cherish, what their Frowns wou’d
blast,

Then when they Hiss, be pleas’d to Clap more fast:

Be kind then Ladies to this trifling Play,

Her Wit is now i’th’ Bud, when blown, She may

Present you with a better; till It come,

This, Ladies, humbly begs a gentle Doom.

Begone fond Love, make haste away,

Duty, not thee, our Souls must sway:

Can thy Almighty Pow’rs

Find out no other Hearts,

To Shoot thy Fatal Darts,

But hapless Ours,

Who cannot, though we wou’d, Obey?

What secret Pow’r is it, Controuls

The Empire thou pretend’st o’re Souls?

That still thy shafts are lost,

And still thou Shoot’st in vain,

For they that feel most Pain,

By Duty ’re Crost,

Or else unjustly meet Disdain.

Fondly Men say, the World doth move

By Loves Command; for simple Love,

Alass! is Subject unto Fate:

Oh Love! Assert thy Pow’r,

And make the Dotards, in an hour

Our Faces hate,

And the young Knights like Swans or Turtles prove.

Come quickly Death,

And with thy fatal Dart,

Release that Heart

That hath too long been thy great Rivals Slave:

Oh! stop that Breath

I languish out in pain;

Let me not Sigh in vain,

But quick and gently send me to my Grave.

For since that Swain

That I so dearly prize,

Doth scorn my Sighs,

And break those Sacred Vows to me he gave;

I’le not complain of Mans Inconstancie,

But humbly Beg of thee, with speed and ease,

To send me to my Grave.

And Love I’le still

Adore thy Deity,

And Worship thee:

If to my alter’d Shepherd thou’lt Relate,

Since ’twas his will, I should not call him mine,

I freely can Resign, and Die for him,

And glory in my Fate.

The Play is damn’d; well, That we look’d to hear,

Yet Gentlemen, pray be not too severe.

Though now the Poet at your Mercy lies,

Fates wheel may turn, and she may chance to rise.

Though she’s an humble Suppliant now to you,

Yet time may come, that you to her may Sue.

Pardon small Errors, be not too unkind,

For if you be, she’l keep it in her mind;

The self same usage that you give her Play,

She’l copy back to you another day.

If you her Wit, or Plot, or Fancy blame,

When you Addresses make, She’l do the same;

But if you’l Clap the Play, and Praise the Rime,

She’l do as much for you another time.

Those that can tell Heaven’s Joy, when News is brought

That some Poor Sinners dear Conversion’s wrought,

Might tell our Raptur’d Extasies, when we

Receiv’d the News, that you were come from Sea:

Each wore such Looks, as visibly exprest

Some more than common Joy, sate smiling in his
Brest:

Great as your Friend’s Joys, you will nothing find,

Unless the Grief of those you left behind:

I can describe my Joy for your Return

No more, then tell how I your Absence Mourn:

Both are beyond the reach of words t’express,

And to describe them, wou’d but make them less:

The Blessing of young Heirs is mixt with Pain,

And by their Father’s Deaths, Princes their Empires
gain

If then all pleasure, meets with some allay,

Forgive me, Dearest Strephon, if I say,

I almost Grieve to think that thou canst be

Six days in London, e’re thou Visit me.

How Happy was the World before men found

Those metals, Nature hid beneath the Ground!

All Necessary things She plac’d in View,

But this She wisely hid, because She knew

That it destructive to her work wou’d be,

And jarr the consort of her Harmony:

No sooner Steel was Found, but men began

To find new ways to Death, and cruel man

Made Swords, and Spears, and Bows, and Darts, which
he

First use’d on Beast――

Who fell the Victimes of his Cruelty:

Pride, and Revenge, then Rag’d in every Soul,

And Fiery Passion, Reason did controule.

But when those Mines we’re found which we call rich,

Because their Glitt’ring Beauty did bewitch

And please our cousen’d Senses, then with more

Than mean devotion, man did Gold adore:

Deluded man did then this Trifle call

The chiefest Good, that cou’d to him befall:

How strangely, Frantick man, didst thou mistake,

When of this trash thou didst an Idol make?

For tho to it thou did’st no Altars rear,

Its Zealous Votary thou didst appear:

This fatal Poyson was by Heaven hid

I’th bowels of the earth, and when it did

By chance, i’th’ Hesperian Garden shoot above,

Heaven, (knowing how mischievous it wou’d prove)

The passage did with watchful Dragons guard,

And made the way to misery, more hard

To pass, than that which lead to Bliss:

But all in vain, for had Heaven hidden this

I’th’ Verge of Hell, man wou’d have fetcht it thence,

And thought it a sufficient Recompence

For all his pains; but when he had attain’d,

This much desired Curse, he thought he’d gain’d

A Blessing Heav’n wou’d Envy, but alas!

The worth, not in the Metal, but his Fancy was.

No Man did needless Merit now regard,

None Vertue sought, none Valour wou’d reward,

None Learning valu’d, none poor Wit did mind,

None honour’d Age, few were to Beauty kind;

All Gold ador’d, all Riches did Admire,

Beyond being Rich, no Man did now aspire.

Gold thus Advanc’d, and all things else neglected,

Justice depos’d, and Wisdom disrespected;

They left the Earth to Wealth’s more pow’rful sway,

And fled to Heaven, while Man did Gold obey:

Now Money reign’d in chief, and sottish Man,

A slavish servitude to Wealth began;

Kingdomes to Rule, and Princes to Advise,

Men fondly chose the Rich, and not the Wise;

All lov’d the Man that had a good Estate,

And Poverty was cause enough to Hate;

The Rich might all things do, and Plaudits have

For his worst Acts, but scarce the Poor cou’d save

His best from Censure; now it might be said,

Wealth hid more Faults, than ever Folly made.

A Friend, though heretofore a Sacred Name,

Now, nothing but an empty Sound became;

For as Mens Riches did or Ebb, or Flow,

So less or more, their Friends did kindness show:

Honour, that flew such noble Flights before,

With gen’rous Pinions, now no more cou’d soare

Such Hights, but check’d, to stoop did not disdain

T’a gilded Lure, and ware a Golden Chain:

Beauty, that all Men did for Heavenly hold,

Forgot its worth, and sold its self for Gold:

Nay Love, though more Divine than all the rest,

Became a Mercenary, or at best,

A mingled Compound of desire and wealth,

If any’s better, ’t must be had by Stealth:

Marriage is Love and Joynture mixt together,

And yet sometimes it happens that there’s neither:

But Wit this glorious trifle did disdain,

Wealth strove to make it yield, but all in vain,

More noble Objects gen’rous Wit did chuse

To employ its Thoughts, and did this Trash refuse.

Wealth threatn’d Wit it ever shou’d be Poor,

Yet Wit the Golden Calf wou’d not adore;

So when both saw their Labour was in vain,

They vow’d to part, and never meet again.

Speak cruel Love! what is’t thou dost intend?

Oh! tell me, have thy Tyrannies no end?

Tho to thy Pow’r I have a Rebel bin,

May not Repentance expiate my Sin?

Oh! long e’re this, if I had injur’d Heaven,

So true a Convert it wou’d have forgiven:

Four times the Sun his Yearly Race hath run,

Since first my Heart was by my Eyes undone;

In all which time, thou scarce hast been so kind,

To give one Minutes Quiet to my mind;

Thou takest from me the Rellish of Delights,

My Days no Pleasure know, no Sleep my Nights:

With wandring thoughts each Pray’r thou dost prophane,

(I offer to my God) and mak’st them vain.

Sometimes with Books I wou’d divert my mind,

But nothing there but J’s and G’s I find:

Sometimes to ease my Grief, my Pen I take,

But it no Letters but J G will make.

I seek Diversion in Company,

But my discourse great Love, is all of Thee;

In Sighs and Sobs, I Languish out the Night

And all the day, in Tears I drown my Sight:

Yet I no pity can from thee obtain,

Thou’lt neither Cure, nor mitigate my Pain:

Mercyless Tyrant! Since thou wilt not Save,

Quickly Destroy, and send me to my Grave.

What Pray’r incessant, to my Ears does fly?

What proud Presumption me of Tyranny

Accuseth? can Love whose pow’re is so Great,

Be taxed with Ingratitude, or Hate?

Fond Girle forbear, and know that your Dispair

Is want of Courage, cou’d you once but dare

Your Victor, and my Vassal, you shou’d see,

How Heav’n wou’d punish his inconstancy:

But while your Hope on his fond Vows relies,

And thinks Heaven minds those little Perjuries,

You quit the greater Pow’r, that you may claime

By Beauty’s Conquest, the loss of it’s your Shame:

When first to you he his Addresses made,

Smiles gave him Life, your frowns, strike him Dead;

But Viper like, being in your Bosom warm’d,

And his chill’d Soul being into Action charm’d

By th’ Influence of your Beams, he straight denies

What gave his Love a Life, and from it flies;

From such a Rebel, as from Plagues i’de run;

Twixt Love and Hate, is no comparison:

Nor is he worth your Anger, or your Scorn,

Do but forget that ever he was Born:

You can’t believe the Gods would e’re create

Ingratitude, that Quintessence of Hate.

Think him a Spectrum, that had only Shape

Without Substance, and Love did onely Ape,

Then reassume that Pow’r, that Nature’s Law

Gives to your Sex; be Wise, keep Slaves in Awe:

Be generous in Love, Love not in vain,

’Tis base to Love, where we’re not Lov’d again.

Tell me you Hate; and Flatter me no more:

By Heaven I do not wish you shou’d adore;

With humbler Blessings, I content can be,

I only beg, that you would pity me;

In as much Silence as I first design’d,

To bear the Raging Torture of my Mind;

For when your Eyes first made my Heart your Slave,

I thought t’have hid my Fetters in my Grave:

Heaven witness for me, that I strove to hide

My violent Love, and my fond Eyes did chide

For glancing at thee; and my Blushes hid,

With as much care as ever Virgin did.

And though I languish’d in the greatest pain

That e’re despairing Lover did sustain;

I ne’re in publick did let fall a Tear,

Nor breath’d a Sigh i’th’ reach of any Ear:

Yet I in private, drew no Breath but Sighs,

And Show’rs of Tears fell from my wretched Eyes:

The Lillies left my Front, the Rose my Cheeks,

My Nights were spent in Sobs and suddain Shreeks,

I felt my strength Insensibly decay’d,

And Death aproach; but ah! then you convey’d

Soft Am’rous tales into my listning Ears,

And gentle Vows, and well becoming Tears,

Then deeper Oaths, nor e’re your Seige remov’d

’Till I confest my Flame, and own’d I lov’d:

Your kinder Smiles had rais’d my Flames so high,

That all at Distance might the Fire Discry,

I took no care my Passion to suppress,

Nor hide the Love I thought I did possess:

But ah! too late I find, your Love was such

As Gallants pay in course, or scarce so much:

You Shun my sight, you feed me with delays,

You slight, affront, a Thousand several ways

You doe Torment with Study’d Cruelty,

And yet alternately you Flatter me.

Oh! if you Love not, plainly say you hate,

And give my Miseries a shorter date,

’Tis kinder than to Linger out my Fate;

And yet I cou’d with less regret have Dy’d,

A Victime to your Coldness, than your Pride.

Since you dare Brave me, with a Rivals Name,

You shall prevail, and I will quit my Claime:

For know, proud Maid, I Scorn to call him mine,

Whome thou durst ever hope to have made thine:

Yet I confess, I lov’d him once so well,

His presence was my Heav’n, his absence Hell:

With gen’rous excellence I fill’d his Brest,

And in sweet Beauteous Forms his Person drest;

For him I did Heaven, and its Pow’r despise,

And onely liv’d by th’ Influence of his Eyes:

I fear’d not Rivals, for I thought that he

That was possess’d of such a Prize as me,

All meaner Objects wou’d Contemn, and Slight,

Nor let an abject thing Usurpe my Right:

But when I heard he was so wretched Base

To pay devotion to thy wrinkled Face

I Banisht him my sight, and told the Slave,

He had no Worth, but what my Fancy gave:

’Twas I that rais’d him to this Glorious State,

And can as easily Annihilate:

But let him live, Branded with Guilt, and Shame,

And Shrink into the Shade from whence he came;

His Punishment shall be, the Loss of Me,

And be Augmented, by his gaining Thee.

At your Intreaty, I at last have writ

This whimsey, that has nigh nonplust my wit:

The Toy I’ve long enjoyed, if it may

Be call’d t’Enjoy, a thing we wish away;

But yet no more its Character can give,

Than tell the Minutes that I have to Live:

’Tis a fantastick Ill, a loath’d Disease,

That can no Sex, no Age, no Person please:

Men strive to gain it, but the way they chuse

T’obtain their Wish, that and the Wish doth lose;

Our Thoughts are still uneasie, till we know

What ’tis, and why it is desired so:

But th’first unhappy Knowledge that we boast,

Is that we know, the valu’d Trifle’s lost:

Thou dull Companion of our active Years,

That chill’st our warm Blood with thy frozen Fears:

How is it likely thou shou’dst long endure,

When Thought it self thy Ruin may procure?

Thou short liv’d Tyrant, that Usurp’st a Sway

O’re Woman-kind, though none thy Pow’r obey,

Except th’ Ill-natur’d, Ugly, Peevish, Proud,

And these indeed, thy Praises Sing aloud:

But what’s the Reason they Obey so well?

Because they want the Power to Rebell:

But I forget, or have my Subject lost:

Alass! thy Being’s Fancy at the most:

Though much desired, ’tis but seldom Men

Court the vain Blessing from a Womans Pen.

If you Repent, can I forgive your Crime,

Except you Love again, and call you Mine:

What Question’s this? Ask some poor Slave if he

Will take again his former Liberty:

Some greedy Miser ask, that Gold had lost

If hee’l Receiv’t again: one that is tost

In a feirce Tempest, on the raging Main,

Ask if he wou’d be safe on Land again:

Ask the Diseased, if they wou’d be Well

Or ask the Damn’d, if they wou’d leave their Hell:

But ask not me a Question So Vain,

As, can you take my wandring Heart again.

No Conqu’ring Hero e’re did Foes persue

With half the Pleasure, that I took in you;

No Youthful Monarch, of a Glit’ring Crown,

Or prating Coxcomb, of a Scarlet Gown

Was half so proud, as I was of your Love;

Nor cou’d great Juno’s State my Envy move,

While in your Heart I thought I Reigned in chief.

Then Strephon, think, how killing was the Grief

That I sustain’d, to find my Empire lost,

And servile Mopsa of your Conquest boast:

None but a depos’d Monarch, made a Scorn

By the rude Slaves that were his Vassals born,

Who while th’ Imperial Circle grace’d his Brow,

At awfull distance, to his Feet did bow,

His Scepter snatch’d by an unworthy hand,

That late was proud to wait his least command,

But now th’Insulting wretch dares threat the Head

Of him, whose Frown but late cou’d look him dead,

Cou’d guess the horrid Tortures seiz’d my mind,

When I perceiv’d you were to Mopsa kind:

That ill-look’t Hag! who nere had guilty bin,

(No not in thought) of such a dareing Sin,

Had you not broke the Solemne Faith you vow’d,

Made me a Scorn to the Ignoble Crow’d

Of vulgar Nymphs, who now dare loudly prate

Reviling tales, they durst not think of late.

I did almost to Death this usage Mourn,

Yet ’tis forgot i’th’ Joy of your Return;

Your proofs of Penitence shall be but small,

Look kind on me, and not on her at all.

Say, jealous Phillida, what Humour’s this?

No Shepherd can bestow a Smile or Kiss

On any Nymph, but you must pout and vex:

Wou’d you Monopolize the Masc’line Sex?

Is not the sprightly Damon’s heart Your Prize,

Securely bound by Hymens Sacred ties?

Strephon and Colon, your Adorers are,

And bashful Cleon does your Fetters wear:

Young Coridon did by your Beauty fall;

Insatiate Nymph! wou’d you ingross them All?

Who doth not smile, to see what Pains you take

To watch our private Meetings, and to make

Our Amours publick? and if your list’ning Ear

By chance soft Amorous Discourses hear,

Then raging Mad: with Jealousie and Pride,

You curse the Shepherds, and the Nymphs you chide.

But why thus Angry? if we entertain

The Heart and Love of some poor humble Swain,

Who never his cheap Thoughts so high durst lift,

As to present you with so mean a Gift;

What wrong have you? why shou’d you break your
Rest,

If they to us present a Linnets Nest,

A Wreath of Flowers, or a Bunch of Grapes,

Filberts, or Strawberries, or the Roots of Rapes?

When Lambs and Kids, are daily offer’d you

By the great Swains, that for your favour sue;

If any Shepherdess so bold dare be,

T’ invade thy Right, or proudly Rival thee,

Th’had’st Reason for thy Anger; but while we

Content with what you slight and scorn can be,

Why shou’d you Envy, or disturb our Joys?

Let us possess in Peace these little Toys.

Fantastick, wanton God, what do’st thou mean

To break my Rest? make me grow pale and lean,

And offer Sighs, and yet not know to who,

Or what’s more strange, to sigh at once for two.

Tyrant! Thou know’st I was thy Slave before,

And humbly did thy Deity Adore:

I lik’d, nay, doated on my Strephon’s Face,

And Sung his Praise, and thine in every place.

My Soul he singly sway’d, alone possest

My Love, and reign’d sole Monarch of my Breast:

Was not all this enough? but thou fond Boy,

Wanton with too much Pow’r, (thy Self t’employ)

Must in my Breast (oh! let it ne’re be told)

Kindle new Flame, yet not put out the Old?

Young Clovis now, (though I oppose in vain)

Succeeds not Strephon, but doth with him Reign:

And I, though both I love, dare neither choose,

Lest gaining one, I shou’d the other loose:

Both Fires are equal great, Flame equal high,

Yet spight of this, a difference I descry;

One wild and raging, furiously Devours

My Peace, my Rest, and all my pleasant Hours;

The other mild and gentle, like those Fires

That melt Perfumes, creates as sweet desires:

That doth with Violence to Passion tend,

This climbs no higher than the name of Friend.

Yes, greedy Strephon, you shall ever be

My only Love, and singly Reign o’re me:

My Passion you shall Monopolize,

You’ve such resistless Magick in your Eyes.

Though Clovis Merits yours do far transcend,

Yet I’m your Lover, and but Clovis Friend;

Blindly I love you, yet too plain discover,

He’l prove a better Friend then you a Lover.

Accept sweet Clovis of that little part

I can present of my unruly Heart.

Cou’d I command my Love, or know a way

My Stubborn, lawless Passion to sway,

My Love I wou’d not Parcel, nor bestow

A little Share, where more than all I owe:

This undeserving Strephon I wou’d teare

From my fond Breast, and place your Merit there:

But ’tis not in my Pow’r, some hidden Fate

Compels me love Him that I strive to Hate.

That Love we to our Prince or Parents pay,

I’le bear to you, and love an humble way:

I’le pay you Veneration for your Love,

And your Admirer, not your Mistress prove.

Oh! be contented with the Sacred Name

Of Friend, and an inviolable Flame

For you I will preserve, and the first place

Of all the few I with that Title grace:

And yet this Friendship doth so fast improve,

I dread, lest it in time shou’d grow to Love.

Imperious Fool! think not because you’re Fair,

That you so much above my Converse are:

What though the Gallants sing your Praises loud,

And with false Plaudits make you vainly Proud?

Tho they may tell you all Adore your Eyes,

And every Heart’s your willing Sacrifice;

Or spin the Flatt’ry finer, and perswade

Your easie Vanity, that we were made

For Foyles to make your Lustre Shine more Bright,

Aud must pay Homage to your dazling Light;

Yet know what ever Stories they may tell,

All you can boast, is, to be pretty well:

Know too, you stately piece of Vanity,

That you are not Alone ador’d, for I

Fantastickly might mince, and smile, as well

As you, if Airy Praise my mind cou’d swell:

Nor are the loud Applauses that I have,

For a fine Face, or things that Nature gave;

But for acquired Parts, a gen’rous Mind,

A pleasing Converse, neither Nice nor Kind:

When they that strive to Praise you most, can say

No more, but that you’re Handsome, brisk and gay:

Since then my Fame’s as great as yours is, why

Should you behold me with a loathing Eye?

If you at me cast a disdainful Eye,

In biting Satyr I will Rage so high,

Thunder shall pleasant be to what I’le write,

And you shall Tremble at my very Sight;

Warn’d by your Danger, none shall dare again,

Provoke my Pen to write in such a strain.

Why do I Love? go, ask the Glorious Sun

Why every day it round the world doth Run:

Ask Thames and Tyber, why they Ebb and Flow:

Ask Damask Roses, why in June they blow:

Ask Ice and Hail, the reason, why they’re Cold:

Decaying Beauties, why they will grow Old:

They’l tell thee, Fate, that every thing doth move,

Inforces them to this, and me to Love.

There is no Reason for our Love or Hate,

’Tis irresistable, as Death or Fate;

’Tis not his Face; I’ve sence enough to see,

That is not good, though doated on by me:

Nor is’t his Tongue, that has this Conquest won;

For that at least is equall’d by my own:

His Carriage can to none obliging be,

’Tis Rude, Affected, full of Vanity:

Strangely Ill-natur’d, Peevish, and Unkind,

Unconstant, False, to Jealousie inclin’d;

His Temper cou’d not have so great a Pow’r,

’Tis mutable, and changes every hour:

Those vigorous Years that Women so Adore,

Are past in him: he’s twice my Age and more;

And yet I love this false, this worthless Man,

With all the Passion that a Woman can;

Doat on his Imperfections, though I spy

Nothing to Love; I Love, and know not why.

Sure ’tis Decreed in the dark Book of Fate,

That I shou’d Love, and he shou’d be ingrate.

Farewel, Dear Love! may’st thou have in Excess,

Pleasure, Delight, Content, and Happiness:

Oh may thy Joys but equalize my Grief,

Thine great, above compare, as mine beyond Relief:

’Twere vain to wish Fate wou’d to thee be kind,

’Twere vain for thee to bribe the Sea or Wind,

’Twere vainer yet to fear a Storm or Fight,

Who know thy Worth, such thoughts as these will
slight.

The Fates their Duty so well understand,

Without my Wish, they’l bring thee safe to Land;

Thy Merits and it’s charge, Heaven so well knows,

’Twill guard thee, though unpray’d to, from thy foes,

If thou hast any; But sure no one can

Bear hatred to so Great, so Brave a Man.

But if by chance, thy Princes Enemie

Shou’d hope to make your Ship their Prize to be,

Tell the Brave Captain, that he need not fear

Their Force, though Strong, for if thou but appear,

With Awful Reverence they’l strait Retire,

And hold it Impious one Gun to Fire:

Sav’d by thy Pow’r, they’l all acknowledge thee

The Guardian Angel of the Ship to be.

Farewel ungrateful Man, Sail to some Land,

Where Treach’ry and Ingratitude command;

There meet with all the Plagues that Man can bear,

And be as Wretched, as I’m Happy here.

’Twere vain to wish that Heav’n wou’d Punish thee,

’Twere vain to Invocate the Wind and Sea,

To fright thee with rude Storms, for surely Fate

Without a wish, will Punish the Ingrate

It’s Justice and thy Crimes, Heaven so well knows,

That all it’s Creatures it will make thy Foes:

(If they’re not so already) but none can

Love such a worthless, such a sordid Man;

And though we’ve now no publick Enemies,

And you’re too strong for private Piracies,

Yet is the Vessel in more danger far,

Than when with all our Neighbours we had War:

For all that know what Guest it doth contain,

Will strive to Fire or Sink it in the Main.

Plagu’d for thy sake, they all will reckon thee

The Achan, or Accursed thing to be.

Unthinking Fool! wrong not thy Reason so,

To fancy Pleasures in Loves Empire grow.

Alass! a Lovers state is full of Fears,

Their daily Entertainment, Sighs and Tears:

The Cruel god, in Tortures did delight,

And either Shoots at Rovers, or in Spight.

Amongst his numerous Slaves, you’l hardly find,

One pair of Lovers mutually kind;

Or if they be, those mighty Bars of Fate,

Int’rest and Friends, their Persons separate:

An am’rous Youth, here for a Lady Dies,

Offring his Heart a Tribute to her Eyes:

With thousand Vows, which proudly she Rejects,

Sighs for another that her Sighs neglects.

A beautious Nymph, whom Heaven and Nature made

To be by all Ador’d, by all Obey’d:

Though thousand Victims sigh beneath her Feet,

In all her Conquests can no Pleasure meet:

But for some Sullen Youth, who proudly Flies,

Dresses her Cheeks in Tears, in languid looks her
Eyes.

Here we shall Lovers find, possessing all

That by mistake, we Joys and Pleasures call;

And yet with Jealousies and Idle fears,

Eclipse ’em so, that scarce a Glimps appears.

Men are unconstant, and delight to Range,

Not to gain Freedom, but their Fetters change:

And, what a Year they did with Passion seek,

Grows troublesome, and nauseous in a Week:

And the poor Lady, newly taught to Love,

With Grief and Horror, sees her Man remove.

Wonder not then thou canst no Pleasure see,

But know thou seek’st it, where it cannot be.

Who vainly seeks for Joys in Love, as well

Might Quiet seek in Courts, and Ease in Hell.

Dear Clovis! can’st thou entertain one Thought

That I, who’ve with so many Hazards sought

T’oblige and please Thee, now wou’d blot thy Name,

Or seek t’Eclipse thy well deserved Fame?

Shou’d but one word slip from my heedless Tongue,

Against that Vertue I’ve admired so long,

To expiate it’s guilt, I’de in thy sight,

The Impious Criminal in pieces bite.

Knew’st thou my thoughts, I then wou’d scorn to fear

The Envious Tales of any Whisperer:

But since that Object is not in thy ken,

My Heart’s true Effigiis take from my Pen;

In my Esteem, thou hast so high a Seat,

All I think of Thee’s, Eminently great:

From thy sweet Tongue, one word ne’re slipt away,

That holy Priests, or Angels, might not say:

Thy Actions so just, and free from Blame,

Heaven by thy Life it’s Sacred Laws might frame:

The scatter’d Vertues that all mankind Share,

In thy great self alone united are:

These are my thoughts of Thee, and while they flow

Thus pure, my Tongue can no foul language know:

Those prophane Words cou’d never come from me,

For had’st thou Faults, I have no Eyes to see:

So fast the Ties of sacred Friendship bind,

That when I shou’d not see, I can be blind:

Thou know’st I can not wrong thee, if I wou’d;

And Clovis know, I wou’d not if I cou’d.

Farewell thou soft Seducer of my Eyes,

That, in Loves shape, did’st Cruelty disguise,

No longer shall thy lovely Melting Charms

Bewitch my Soul, to please it’s self in Harms;

No more I’le show’r down unregarded Tears;

No more I’le break my Rest, with Am’rous Fears;

With Scorching Sighs, I’le blast my Lips no more,

No more thy Pity I’le in vain implore;

In Languishment, no more my Eyes I’le dress,

But reassume that Heart thou did’st possess;

For since the Guest thou wou’d’st not entertain,

It was but just, it shou’d return again:

Now ’tis my own again, with care, and Art

I’le guard each passage that leads to my Heart;

Love shall Resign, and Reason shall command,

And Care and Wisdome Sentinels shall stand:

My treachrous eyes, nor thy more treachrous tongue,

Shall not betray me as they’ve done too long:

And though the Headstrong Passion shou’d prevaile

Against my Reason, yet this barb’rous Tale

Wou’d make the Rebel willingly Submit,

And change the Fever, to an Ague fit:

For who again wou’d venture on that Shore,

Where hee’d been split and Shipwrackt once before.

Lovely Unkind! cou’d you so Cruel be

To leave the Land e’re you took Leave of me?

Explain this mystick Act, and let me know

Whether it doth your Hate, or Kindness show:

Lov’d you too well my Parting sighs to hear?

Or wanted Strength my kinder Tears to bear?

Or were you Tend’rer yet, and did decline

A solemn Leave, not for your Sake, but mine?

Left my kind Heart o’re charg’d with too much Grief,

Shou’d with my Farewell-sighs breath out my Life.

Or was it (how the very Thought doe’s fright!)

To show with how much Contempt you cou’d slight?

Or did you love so little, that no Thought

Of poor Ephelia to your mind was brought?

No, no, ’twas none of these; I guess thy mind:

Strephon! thou knew’st I was so fondly kind,

That at the News of Parting, into Tears

I strait had melted, Thousand Am’rous Fears

I had Suggested to my self, and you

In Complaisance must needs have done so too:

You must have told how loth you were to part,

And vow’d that tho you went, I kept your Heart;

Omitted nothing tender Love cou’d shew,

From my pale Cheeks have kist the Pearly Dew;

Spoke all the tender’st things you cou’d devise,

And to the old added new Perjuries;

Vow’d Constancy in Absence, and then Swear,

A quick Return shou’d dissipate my Fear:

All of these pleasing Vanities, you knew,

A declar’d Lover was oblig’d to doe:

But to this trouble you wou’d not be brought,

But stole in silence hence; yet tho you thought

This Tale too long, and troublesome to tell,

You might have grasp’d my hand, and said Farewel;

At which dire Words, such Consternation wou’d

Have seiz’d my Soul, I senseless shou’d have stood

’Till you beyond a Sigh’s faint Call had fled;

Nay, till Tangiere, you’d near recovered:

This way, my Kindness cou’d not tiresome be,

Nor your Neglect wou’d not have troubled me.

Stay lovely Youth! do not so swiftly fly

From her your Speed must cause as quick to die:

Each step you take, hales me a step more near

To the cold Grave: (nor is’t an idle Fear)

For know, my Soul to you is chained fast,

And if you make such cruel, fatal hast,

Must quit it’s Seat, and be so far unkind,

To leave my fainting, breathless Trunk behind:

Your Sight unthought of, did so much surprise,

You might have seen my Soul danc’d in my Eyes;

But the cold Look you gave in passing by,

Froze my warm Blood, and taught my Hopes to die:

When you were past, my Spirits soon did fail,

My Limbs grew stiff and cold, my Face grew pale:

My Heart did Pant, scarce cou’d I fetch my Breath,

In every part nothing appear’d but Death:

Yet did my Eyes persue your cruel Flight,

Nor ever mov’d, ’till you were out of Sight:

But then, alas, it cannot be exprest,

I faint, I faint, my Death shall tell the rest.

Madam! permit a Muse, that has been long

Silent with wonder, now to find a Tongue:

Forgive that Zeal I can no longer hide,

And pardon a necessitated Pride.

When first your strenuous polite Lines I read,

At once it Wonder and Amazement bred,

To see such things flow from a Womans Pen,

As might be Envy’d by the wittiest Men:

You write so sweetly, that at once you move,

The Ladies Jealousies, and Gallant’s Love;

Passions so gentle, and so well exprest,

As needs must be the same fill your own Breast;

Then Rough again, as your Inchanting Quill

Commanded Love, or Anger at your Will:

As in your Self, so in your Verses meet,

A rare connexion of Strong and Sweet:

This I admir’d at, and my Pride to show,

Have took the Vanity to tell you so

In humble Verse, that has the Luck to please

Some Rustick Swains, or silly Shepherdess:

But far unfit to reach your Sacred Ears,

Or stand your Judgment: Oh! my conscious Fears

Check my Presumption, yet I must go on,

And finish the rash Task I have begun.

Condemn it Madam, if you please, to th’ Fire,

It gladly will your Sacrifice expire,

As sent by one, that rather chose to shew

Her want of Skill, than want of Zeal to you.

Dull Animal miscall’d a Man, for Shame

Give o’re your foolish tales of Fire and Flame:

The Nymphs abhor you, and your Stories hate,

Count you a Monster, barb’rously Ingrate:

Your fine sweet Face, in which such Pride you take,

Th’ exactness of your clever, easie Make;

Your Charming Meen, bewitching Tongue, nor yet

The fancied Greatness of your boasted Wit,

Can now the meanest Nymph to Pity move,

Though once they taught the great Phylena Love:

Phylena, Glory of the Surrey-Plain,

The envy’d Wish of every hopeless Swain,

Whose Artless Charms, the Proud and Great had
brought

Upon their Knees, th’ Old and Morose had taught

How to Languish, and they that durst not show

They were her Lovers, silently were so:

But you alone, did of her Conquest boast,

In that one Prize all Natures Wealth engross’t:

But your insipid Dulness found more Charms,

More Pleasure in the wanton Flora’s Armes;

With Her you past your hours in idle Prate,

While poor Phylena unregarded sate:

Kind heart! She wept; and gently She Reprov’d

Your strange Ingratitude, told you, you lov’d

A Shepherdess that had a sickly Fame,

And wou’d bring Infamy upon your Name.

Who can believe? With unheard Impudence

You own’d your Crime, and urg’d in your defence,

The Nymph sung charmingly, was very Witty,

Gay, Brisk, had Teeth; oh! infinitely Pretty:

Ingenious Lime-twigs, to catch Woodcocks on,

Pretty Ingredients to Dote upon!

Can you prefer these trivial Toys, that are

As common as their Owner, to the rare

Perfections dwell in your Phylena’s Breast,

Things too Divinely Great to be exprest?

Her Vertues, though her Beauty shou’d decay,

Might Charm the World, and make Mankind obey.

Degen’rous Man! break this ignoble Chain,

That dims your Lustre, does your Honour stain;

Or you’l be judg’d for all your vain Pretences,

Not only to have lost your Wits, but Sences.

Though Fortune have so far from me remov’d,

All that I wish, or all I ever lov’d,

And Rob’d our Europe of its chief Delight,

To bless the Africk world with Strephons Sight:

There with a Lady Beauteous, Rich, and Young,

Kind, Witty, Vertuous, the best Born among

The Africk Maids, presents this happy Swain,

Not to oblige Him, but to give Me Pain:

Then to my Ears, by tattling Fame, conveys

The Tale with large Additions; and to raise

My Anger higher, tells me ’tis design’d,

That Hymens Rites, their hands and hearts must bind:

Now She believes my Business done, and I

At the dire News wou’d fetch a Sigh, and Die:

But She’s deceiv’d, I in my Strephon grow,

And if he’s happy, I must needs be so:

Or if Fate cou’d our Interests disjoyn,

At his good Fortune I shou’d ne’re Repine,

Though ’twere my Ruin; but I exulte to hear,

Insulting Mopsa I no more shall fear;

No more he’l smile upon that ugly Witch:

In that one Thought, I’m Happy, Great, and Rich;

And blind Dame Fortune, meaning to Destroy,

Has fill’d my Soul with Extasies of Joy:

To Him I love, She’s given a happy Fate,

And quite destroy’d and ruin’d Her I hate.

My Love? alas! I must not call you Mine,

But to your envy’d Bride that Name resign:

I must forget your lovely melting Charms,

And be for ever Banisht from your Arms:

For ever? oh! the Horror of that Sound!

It gives my bleeding Heart a deadly wound:

While I might hope, although my Hope was vain,

It gave some Ease to my unpitty’d Pain,

But now your Hymen doth all Hope exclude,

And but to think is Sin; yet you intrude

On every Thought; if I but close my Eyes,

Methinks your pleasing Form besides me lies;

With every Sigh I gently breath your Name,

Yet no ill Thoughts pollute my hallow’d Flame;

’Tis pure and harmless, as a Lambent Fire,

And never mingled with a warm Desire:

All I have now to ask of Bounteous Heaven,

Is, that your Perjuries may be forgiven:

That She who you have with your Nuptials blest,

As She’s the Happiest Wife, may prove the Best:

That all our Joys may light on you alone,

Then I can be contented to have none:

And never wish that you shou’d Kinder be,

Than now and then, to cast a Thought on Me:

And, Madam, though the Conquest you have won,

Over my Strephon, has my hopes undone;

I’le daily beg of Heaven, he may be

Kinder to You, than he has been to Me.

Gay Fop! that know’st no higher Flights than Sense,

What was it gave thee so much Impudence,

T’ attempt the violation of a Shrine,

That lodg’d a Soul so Sacred, so Divine?

Her lovely Face might teach thee to Adore,

But cou’d not tempt thee to a loose Amour:

Such charming goodness in her Eyes appear,

Might strike a Satyr with an awful Fear;

But thou, less humane, and more wild than they,

Thy impious Passion durst before her lay:

Sweet Innocence, how she amazed stood,

To hear such Tales, how her affrighted blood

Flush’d in her Face, and then recoyl’d again,

To hear discourse so horridly Prophane!

She look’d such things might teach thee to despair,

Dissolve thy Being, fright thee into Air:

But thy unpar’llel’d boldness durst despise

The Sacred Lightning that flasht from her Eyes;

And by a second Guilt, durst tempt her Tongue

To thunder Vengeance on thee, for her Wrong.

Impious Criminal! for this Offence,

Heaven hardly will accept of Penitence:

In tempting of her Vertue, know that you

Have done more than the Devil dar’d to do:

Audacious Villain! sure, thou next wil’t try

Deposing of thy God, to rule the Sky:

That Action hardly can more wicked be,

Than what already hath been done by Thee.

If e’re again thy Crime thou do’st repeat,

Expect thy Ruine to be quick, and great.

With Thunder-bolts thou shalt be crush’d to Hell.

There with the Devils, and the Damn’d to dwell:

While that bright Maid, that thou would’st have
betraid,

Shall be by Angels lov’d, by Men obey’d.

Fair Excellence! such strange Commands you lay,

I neither dare Dispute, nor can Obey:

Had I the sweet Orinda’s happy Strain,

Yet every Line would Sacriledge contain:

Like to some awful Deity you sit,

At once the Terrour and Delight of Wit:

Your Soul appears in such a charming Dress

As I admire, but never can express:

Heav’n that to others had giv’n sev’ral Graces,

Some noble Souls, some Wit, some lovely Faces:

Finding the World did every one Admire,

Resolv’d to raise their Admiration higher:

And in one Piece, every Perfection croud,

So fram’d your Self, and of it’s work grew Proud:

Each Rising Sun saw you more Good, more Fair;

As you alone took up all Heaven’s Care:

Such awful Charms do in your Face appear,

As fill Man-kind at once with Love and Fear.

Who hear you Speak, must take your Tongue to be

The first Original of Harmony:

Your Meen hath such a Stately Charming Air,

As without Heralds doth your Birth declare:

Your Soul so Noble, yet from Pride so free,

That ’tis the Pattern of Humility.

Else I had never dar’d to give one Line

To your fair Hand, so Impolite as Mine.

Pardon, dear Madam, these untuned Lays,

That have Prophan’d what I design’d to Praise.

Nor is’t possible, but I so must do,

All I can think falls so much short of you:

And Heaven as well with Man might angry be,

For not describing of the Deity,

In its full height of Excellence, as you

Quarrel with them that give you not your Due.

I Thought, I’le Swear, that I could freely part,

With the small Theft I’de made of Clovis Heart.

’Tis true, of Him I still had in my Breast

Some busie Thoughts, that did disturb my Rest:

Yet like wild Passion it did not seem,

But lookt like Friendship, or at most, Esteem.

I thought his Heart was a too glorious Prize,

To be a Trophy to my twylight Eyes;

And when with Sighs he has his Passion show’d,

A thousand times I’ve wisht, it were bestow’d

On sweet Marrina; thinking none beside,

Had Worth enough, to be young Clovis Bride:

And beg’d of Love, that he would give her leave;

He smil’d to see me thus my Self deceive:

Fancying that lazy Friendship, that (alas!)

Too late I found an active Passion was:

To undeceive me, brought that Shepherd, where

I, and Marrina both together were:

The Swain surpriz’d, to me did hardly lend

A squinting Glance; but to my Beauteous Friend,

Fierce Wishing-looks from dying Eyes did send.

I turn’d my Head, and sigh’d at the Disgrace,

While Love and Jealousie rag’d in my Face:

Love laught out-right to see my Discontent;

Now Fool (said she) thy fatal Pray’rs repent.

Malicious God (quoth I) so much above

My Self or Interest, I Clovis love,

That still I wish, that lovely Nymph and he united
were

But wish not now the Killing-news to hear.

Conceited Coxcomb! tho’ I was so kind

To wish to see you, think not I design’d

To force my self to your unwilling Arms,

Your Conversation has no such Charms:

Think less, those lovely Virgins were with me,

Wou’d thrust themselves into your Company;

They’ve Crowds of Gallants, for their Favours sue,

And to be Caress’d, need not come to you:

’Gainst handsom Women rudely shut your Dore!

Had it been Serjeants, you cou’d do no more:

Faith, we expected with a horrid yelp,

Out of the Window you’d have cry’d, help! help!

What Outrage have you offer’d to our Sex?

That you should dread we came but to perplex:

Or since I saw you last, what have I done,

Might cause so strange an Alteration?

Till now, your wishing Eyes have at my Sight,

Spoke you all Rapture, Extasie, Delight:

But at the Change, I have a Critick guess,

So much of Friendship to me you profess,

More than your lazy Tongue can e’re express;

And your performance hath been so much less:

That Debtor-like, you dare not meet my Eyes,

Which was the reason of your late Surprize.

I’le tell you, Sir, your kindness to requite

A loving Secret, meerly out of spight:

A Secret four and twenty Moons I’ve kept,

I’ve sigh’d in private, and in private wept;

And all for You: but yet so much my Pride

Surmounts my Passion, that now were I try’d,

And th’ Heart so long I’ve wisht for, prostrate lay

Before my Feet, I’de spurn the Toy away:

And tho, perhaps, I wish as much as you,

I’le starve my Self, so I may starve You too:

And for a Curse, wish you may never find

An open Door, nor Woman when she’s kind.

Oh cruel Fate, when wilt thou weary be?

When satisfied with tormenting me?

What have I e’re design’d, but thou hast crost?

All that I wisht to gain by Thee, I’ve lost:

From my first Infancy, thy Spight thou’st shown,

And from my Cradle, I’ve thy Malice known;

Thou snatch’st my Parents in their tender Age,

Made me a Victim to the furious Rage

Not all thy Malice cou’d extort a Tear,

Nor all thy Rage cou’d ever teach me Fear:

Still as thy Pow’r diminisht my Estate,

My Fortitude did my Desires abate;

In every state I thought my Mind content,

And wisely did thy cross Designs prevent:

Seeing thy Plots did unsuccessful prove,

As a sure Torment next, thou taught’st me Love:

But here thou wer’t deceiv’d too, for my Swain

As soon as he perceiv’d, pity’d my Pain:

He met my Passion with an equal Fire,

Both sweetly languisht in a soft Desire:

Claspt in each other’s Arms we sate all Day,

Each Smile I gave, he’d with a Kiss repay:

In every Hour an Ages Bliss we reap’d,

And lavish Favours on each other heap’d.

Now sure (thought I) Destiny doth relent,

And her insatiate Tyranny repent:

But how mistaken! how deceiv’d was I!

Alas! She onely rais’d my Hopes thus high,

To cast me down with greater Violence;

For midst our Joys, she snatch’d my Shepherd hence

To Africa: yet tho’ I was neglected,

I bore it better than could be expected:

Without Regret, I let him cross the Sea,

When I was told it for his Good wou’d be;

But when I heard the Nuptial Knot he’d ty’d,

And made an Afric Nymph his happy Bride:

My Temper then I could no longer hold,

I curs’d my Fate, I curs’d the Pow’r of Gold;

I curs’d the Easiness believ’d at first,

And (Heaven forgive me) Him I almost curs’d.

Hearing my Loss, to him was mighty Gain;

I check’d my Rage, and soon grew Calm again:

Malicious Fate, seeing this wou’d not do,

Made Strephon wretched, to make me so too.

Of all her Plagues, this was the weightiest Stroke,

This Blow, my resolv’d Heart hath almost broke:

Yet, spight of Fate, this Comfort I’ve in store,

She’s no room left for any Ill thing more.

Thing, call’d a Man! Ambition cheats thy Sense,

Or, thou’rt deceiv’d with too much Impudence;

To think that Divine Creature you pursue,

Can be deserv’d, or merited by you:

Dare not to be so Impiously Rude,

To tax such Goodness with Ingratitude;

One Smile from her will more Obligements pay,

Than shoud’st thou live ten Ages, thou coud’st lay.

Thou talk of Obligations! that wer’t fram’d

To make proud man of his own Sex asham’d:

When in his greatest Pride, he cast an Eye,

On thy ill Manners and Deformity;

He’l hate himself, and rather wish to be

An Ass, or Owl, than such a thing as thee.

Dar’st thou affront Her thou pretend’st t’ adore?

That Heavenly Mortal, if she be no more;

Because to them better deserv’d it, she

Shew’d more respect, and more Civility?

You rudely must Invite her to expose

Those God-like Men, unto your barb’rous Blows;

She will not do’t; not that thy Arm she fears,

Or thinks thy Valour more refin’d than theirs:

Tho’ in their Glory she designs no share,

Yet of their Honour she takes too much care,

To let ’em Fight a despicable Thing,

That when they’ve Conquer’d, can no Trophy bring.

Know, Fool too; thee she does too much contemn,

To let thee boast thou ever Fought’st with them.

To vex thee, they her Favourites shall be,

And make their Court still in abusing thee:

Abusing thee! what have I vainly sed?

What Nonsence unawares I’ve uttered!

The harshest Satyr that we can invent,

Is Panegyrick, when of Thee ’tis meant.

All my Invention cannot reach a Curse,

For whatsoe’re I think, still thou art worse;

Yet I’le endeavour at One: Be’t thy Fate

To live the Object of Eugenia’s Hate.