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When in thy lonely bed,

My ghost its moan shall make, With faddeft figns that I am dead, And dead for thy dear fake.

Struck with that conscious blow,
Thy very foul will start;

Pale as my fhadow thou wilt
And cold as is thy heart.

Too late remorse will then
Untimely pity show

grow,

To him, who of all mortal men
Did most thy value know.

Yet, with this broken heart,
I wish thou never be

Tormented with the thousandth part
Of what I feel for thee.

On Apprehenfion of lofing what he had newly gain'd.

In Imitation of OVID.

URE I of all men am the first

SURE

That ever was by kindness curst,
Who must my only blifs bemoan,
And am by happiness undone.

Had I at diftance only feen
That lovely face, I might have been
With the delightful object pleas'd,
But not with all this paffion feiz'd.

When afterwards so near I came,
As to be scorch'd in beauty's flame;
To so much softness, so much sense,
Reason itself made no defence.

What pleafing thoughts poffefs'd my mind
When little favours fhew'd you kind!
And tho', when coldness oft prevail'd,
My heart would fink, and spirits fail'd,
Yet willingly the yoke I bore,
And all your chains as bracelets wore :
At your lov'd feet all day would lie,
Defiring, without knowing why;

your charms?

For, not yet bleft within your arms,
Who could have thought of half
Charms of fuch a wondrous kind,
Words we cannot, must not find,
A body worthy of your mind:
Fancy could ne'er fo high reflect,
Nor love itself fuch joys expect.
After fuch embraces past,
Whose memory will ever last,
Love is still reflecting back :
All my foul is on a rack:
To be in hell's fufficient curfe,
But to fall from heav'n is worse.
I liv'd in grief ere this I knew,
But then I dwelt in darkness too.
Of gains, alas! I could not boaft;
But little thought how much I loft.
Now heart-devouring eagerness,
And sharp impatience to poffefs;
Now restless cares, confuming fires,
Anxious thoughts, and fierce desires,
Tear my heart to that degree,
For ever fix'd on only thee:
Then all my comfort is, I shall
Live in thy arms, or not at all.

CA

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The Reconcilement.

SON G.

COME, let us now refolve at last

To live and love in quiet;

We'll tie the knot fo very fast,
That time fhall ne'er untie it.

The trueft joys they feldom prove,
Who free from quarrels live ;
'Tis the most tender part of love,
Each other to forgive.

When least I feem'd concern'd, I took

No pleasure, nor no rest;

And when I feign'd an angry look,

Alas! Ilov'd you best.

Own but the fame to me, you'll find

How bleft will be our fate;

Oh, to be happy, to be kind,

Sure, never is too late.

FR

SON G.

ROM all uneafy paffions free,
Revenge, ambition, jealousy,
Contented I had been too bleft,
If love and you had let me rest.
Yet that dull life I now despise;
Safe from your eyes,

I fear'd no griefs, but then I found no joys.

Amidst a thousand kind desires,
Which beauty moves, and love inspires;
Such pangs I feel of tender fear,
No heart fo foft as mine can bear.
Yet I'll defy the worst of harms:
Such are your charms,

'Tis worth a life to die within your arms.

E

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