Go, little book, and to the world impart
The faithful image of an amorous heart:
Those who love's dear deluding pains have known
May in my fatal stories read their own.
Those who have liv'd from all its torments free,
May find the thing they never felt, by me.
Perhaps, advis'd, avoid the gilded bait,
And, warn'd by my example, shun my fate.
While with calm joy, safe landed on the coaft,
I view the waves on which I once was toft.
Love is a medley of endearments, jars,
Sufpicions, quarrels, reconcilements, wars;
Then peace again, Oh! would it not be best
To chace the fatal poison from our breast?
But, fince so few can live from paffion free,
Happy the man, and only happy he,
Who with such lucky stars begins his love,
That his cool judgment does his choice approve.
Ill-grounded paffions quickly wear away;
What 's built upon esteem can ne'er decay.
ET the dull Merchant curse his angry fate,
And from the winds and waves his fortune wait :
Let the loud Lawyer break his brains, and be
A flave to wrangling coxcombs, for a fee :
Let the rough Soldier fight his prince's foes,
And for a livelihood his life expose :
I wage no war, I plead no cause, but Love's;
I fear no storms but what Celinda moves.
And what grave cenfor can my choice despise?
But here, fair charmer, here the difference lies :
The Merchant, after all his hazards past,
Enjoys the fruit of his long toils at last;
The Soldier high in his king's favour stands,
And, after having long obey'd, commands;
The Lawyer, to reward his tedious care,
Roars on the bench, that babbled at the bar :
While I take pains to meet a fate more hard,
And reap no fruit, no favour, no reward.
Written in a Lady's Table-Book.
ITH what strange raptures would my foul be
Were but her book an emblem of her breast!
As I from that all former marks efface,
And, uncontrol'd, put new ones in their place;
So might I chace all others from her heart,
And my own image in the stead impart.
But, ah! how short the bliss would prove, if he
Who feiz'd it next, might do the fame by me!
HILE those bright eyes fubdue where-e'er you will,
And, as you please, can either save or kill;
What youth fo bold the conquest to design ?
What wealth fo great to purchase hearts like thine ?
None but the Muse that privilege can claim,
And what you give in love, return in fame.
Riches and titles with your life must end;
Nay, cannot ev'n in life your fame defend :
Verse can give fame, can fading beauties save,
And, after death, redeem them from the grave:
Embalm'd in verse, through distant times they come,
Preserv'd, like bees within an amber tomb.
Poets (like monarchs on an Eastern throne,
Restrain'd by nothing but their will alone)
Here can cry up, and there as boldly blame,
And, as they please, give infamy or fame.
In vain the * Tyrian Queen resigns her life,
For the bright glory of a spotless wife,
If lying bards may false amours rehearse,
And blaft her name with arbitrary verse;
While + one, who all the absence of her lord
Had her wide courts with preffing lovers stor'd,
Yet, by a Poet grac'd, in deathless rhymes,
Stands a chafte pattern to succeeding times.
With pity then the Muses' friends survey,
Nor think your favours there are thrown away;
Wisely like feed on fruitful foil they're thrown,
To bring large crops of glory and renown :
For as the fun, that in the marshes breeds
Nothing but nauseous and unwholsome weeds,
With the fame rays, on rich and pregnant earth,
To pleasant flowers and useful fruits gives birth :
So favours cast on fools get only shame,
On Poets shed, produce eternal fame;
Their generous breafts warm with a genial fire,
And more than all the Muses can inspire.
HO could more happy, who more blest could live,
Than they whom kind, whom amorous paffions
What crowns, what empires, greater joys could give,
Than the foft chains, the slavery of Love?
Were not the bliss too often croft
By that unhappy, vile distrust,
That gnawing doubt, that anxious fear, that dangerous malady,
That terrible tormenting rage, that madness, Jealoufy.
In vain Celinda boasts she has been true,
In vain she swears she keeps untouch'd her charms;
Dire Jealousy does all my pains renew,
And reprefents her in my rival's arms :
His fighs I hear, his looks I view,
I fee her damn'd advances too;
I see her smile, I see her kifs; and, oh! methinks I fee
Her give up all those joys to him, she should referve
Ingrateful Fair-one! canst thou hear my groans?
Canft thou behold these tears that fill my eyes?
And yet, unmov'd by all my pains, my moans,
Into another's arms resign my prize?
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