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When we think, by passion heated,

We a Goddess have in chace, Like Ixion we are cheated,

And a gaudy cloud embrace.

Happy only is the lover

Whom his mistress well deceives; Seeking nothing to discover,

He contented lives at ease.

While the wretch who would be knowing

What the fair one would disguise, Labours for his own undoing,

Changing happy to be wise.

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Tell me no more I am deceivd,

That Chloe's false and common;
I always knew (at least believ’d)

She was a very woman :
As such I lik'd, as such caress'd,
She still was constant when possessid,

She could do more for no man.




But oh ! her thoughts on others ran,

And that you think a hard thing? Perhaps she fancied you the man ;

1 And what care I one farthing? You think she's false, I'm sure she's kind, I take her body, you her mind,

Who has the better bargain?


MISTAKEN fair, lay Sherlock by, a

His doctrine is deceiving, -For while he teaches us to die,

He cheats us of our living:

To die's a lesson we shall know

Too soon without a master; Then let us only study now

How we may live the faster.

To live's to love, to bless, be blest

With mutual inclination;
Share then my ardour in your breast,

And kindly meet my passion.

But if thus blest I may not live,

And pity you deny,
To me at least your Sherlock give,

'Tis I must learn to die,


Chloe's the wonder of her sex,

'Tis well her heart is tender ;
How might such killing eyes perplex,

With virtue to defend her !

But nature graciously inclin'd

With liberal hand to please us,
Has to her boundless beauty join'd

A boundless bent to ease us.


When Orpheus went down to the regions be

Which men are forbidden to see ; [low, He tun'd up his lyre, as old histories show,

To set his Eurydice free.

All hell was astonish'd a person so wise

Should rashly endanger his life, And venture so far; but how vast their surprise

When they heard that he came for his wife !

To find out a punishment due for his fault

Old Pluto long puzzled his brain, But hell had not torments sufficient, he thought,

So he gave him his wife back again.

But pity succeeding soon vanquish'd his heart,

And pleas’d with his playing so well, He took her again in reward of his art,

Such merit had music in hell.



A IN are the charms of white and red,

Which paint the blooming fair ;
Give me the nymph whose snow is spread

Not o'er her face, but hair.

Of smoother cheeks the winning grace

With open foroe defies;
But in the wrinkles of

her face
Cupid in ambush lies.

If naked eyes set hearts on blaze,

And amorous warmth inspire; Thro' glass, who darts her pointed rays,

Lights up a fiercer fire.

Nor rivals, nor the train of years,

My peace or bliss destroy ; Alive, she gives no jealous fears,

And dead, she crowns my joy.

Chloe brisk and gay appears,

On purpose to invite ; ;
Yet, when I press her, she, in tears

Denies her sole delight:

Whilst Celia, seeming shy and coy,

To all her favours grants ; And secretly receives that joy,

Which others think she wants.

I would, but fear I never shall,

With either fair agree; For Celia will be kind to all,

But Chloe won't to me.

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