TEAC

THE PROPHET.

EACH me to love! go teach thyself more wit;
I chief profeffor am of it.

Teach craft to Scots, and thrift to Jews,

Teach boldness to the stews;

In tyrants' courts teach fupple flattery;
Teach Jefuits, that have travel'd far, to lye ;
Teach fire to burn, and winds to blow,
Teach reftlefs fountains how to flow,
Teach the dull earth fixt to abide,
Teach woman-kind inconftáncy and pride
See if your diligence here will useful prove ;
But, pr'ythee, teach not me to love.

:

The God of Love, if such a thing there be,
May learn to love from me ;

He who does boast that he has been

In every heart fince Adam's fin;

I'll lay my life, nay mistress, on 't, that's more,
I'll teach him things he never knew before;
I'll teach him a receipt, to make

Words that weep, and tears that speak;

I'll teach him fighs, like thofe in death, At which the fouls go out too with the breath: Still the foul stays, yet ftill does from me run, As light and heat does with the fun.

'Tis I who Love's Columbus am; 'tis I

Who must new worlds in it defcry;

Rich

Rich worlds, that yield of treasure more
Than all that has been known before.
And yet like his, I fear, my fate must be,
To find them out for others, not for me.
Me times to come, I know it, shall
Love's laft and greatest prophet call ;
But, ah! what 's that, if the refuse,

To hear the wholesome doctrines of my Muse;
If to my share the prophet's fate must come—
Hereafter fame, here martyrdom?

T

THE RESOLUTION..

HE devil take thofe foolish men

Who gave you first such powers;
We ftood on even grounds till then ;
If any odds, creation made it ours.

For fhame, let thefe weak chains be broke;
Let's our flight bonds, like Samfon, tear;
And nobly cast away that yoke,

Which we nor our forefathers e'er could bear.

French laws forbid the female reign;

Yet Love does them to flavery draw: Alas! if we 'll our rights maintain, 'Tis all mankind must make a Salique law.

CALLED

CALLED INCONSTANT.

HA! ha! you think you've kill'd my fame,
By this not understood, yet common, name; -
A name that's full and proper, when affign'd
To woman-kind;

But, when you call us fo,

It can at best but for a metaphor go.

Can you the fhore inconftant call,

Which ftill, as waves pafs by, embraces all;
That had as lief the fame waves always love,..
Did they not from him move?

Or can you fault with pilots find

For changing course, yet never blame the wind?

Since, drunk with vanity, you fell,

The things turn round to you that stedfast dwell ;
And you yourself, who from us take your flight,
Wonder to find us out of fight.

So the fame error feizes you,

As men in motion think the trees move too.

THE

WEL C O M E.

O, let the fatted calf be kill'd;

Go

My prodigal's come home at last,

With noble refolutions fill'd,

And fill'd with forrow for the past :

No

No more will burn with love or wine;
But quite has left his women and his swine.

Welcome, ah! welcome, my poor heart !
Welcome! I little thought, I'll swear
('Tis now fo long fince we did part)
Ever again to see thee here:

Dear wanderer! fince from me you fled,
How often have I heard that thou wert dead!

Haft thou not found each woman's breast (The lands where thou haft travelled) Either by favages poffeft,

Or wild and uninhabited?

What joy could't take, or what repose,
In countries fo unciviliz'd as thofe ?

Luft, the fcorching dog-ftar, here
Rages with immoderate heat;
Whilft pride, the rugged Northern bear,
In others makes the cold too great:
And, where these are temperate known,
The foil 's all barren fand or rocky stone.

When once or twice you chanc'd to view
A rich, well-govern'd heart,

Like China, it admitted you

But to the frontier-part.

From Paradife fhut for evermore,

What good is 't that an angel kept the door?

Well

Well fare the pride, and the difdain,
And vanities, with beauty join'd;
I ne'er had seen this heart again,
If any fair-one had been kind:

My dove, but once let loofe, I doubt

Would ne'er return, had not the flood been out.

THE HEART FLED AGAIN.

FAL

ALSE, foolish heart! didst thou not say,
That thou would'ft never leave me more?

Behold! again 'tis fled away,

Fled as far from me as before.

I ftrove to bring it back again;
I cry'd and hollow'd after it in vain.
Ev'n fo the gentle Tyrian dame,
When neither grief nor love prevail,
Saw the dear object of her flame,
Th' ingrateful Trojan, hoift his fail:
Aloud fhe call'd to him to stay;
The wind bore him and her loft words away.

The doleful Ariadne so,

On the wide fhore forfaken stood:

"Falfe Thefeus, whither doft thou go?" Afar falfe Thefeus cut the flood.

But Bacchus came to her relief;

Bacchus himself 's too weak to ease my grief.

Ah!