AĽ O G U E

D I AL

DE

L'AMOUR E T DU РОЕТЕ.

LE P.

A

MOUR, je ne veux plus aimer;
J'abjure à jamais ton empire :

Mon Cœur, laffé de fon Martire,
A réfolu de fe calmer.

L'AM. Contre moi, qui peut t'animer?
Iris, dans fes bras te rapelle.

LE P. Non, Iris eft une infidelle;

Amour, je ne veux plus aimer.

L'Am. Pour foi, j'ai pris soin d'enflamer
Le cœur d'une beauté nouvelle;

Daphné.-Le P. Non, Daphné n'est que belle;
Amour, je ne veux plus aimer.

L'AM. D'un foupir, tu peux defarmer
Dírcé, jufqu'ici fi sauvauge.

LE P. Elle n'eft plus dans le bel age;
Amour, je ne veux plus aimer.

L'AM.

DIALOGUE

FROM THE

FRENCH OF MONSIEUR DE LA MOTTE.,

POET. NO, Love-I ne'er will love again;

Thy Tyrant Empire I abjure;

My weary heart refolves to cure

Its wounds, and eafe the raging pain.

LOVE. Fool? canft thou fly my happy reign?
Iris recalls thee to her arms.

POET. She's false—I hate her perjur'd charms ;
No, Love-I ne'er will love again.

LOVE. But know for thee I've toil'd to gain
Daphné, the bright, the reigning toast.
POET. Daphné but common eyes can boast;
No, Love-I ne'er will love again.

LOVE. She who before fcorn'd every fwain,
Dircé, shall for one figh be thine.
POET. Age makes her rays too faintly shine;
No, Love-I ne'er will love again.

L'AM. Mais fi je t'aidois à charmer
La jeune, la brilliante Flore.-
Tu rougis-vas-tu dire encore,
Amour, Je ne veux plus aimer?

Le P. Non, Dieu charmant, daigne former
Pour nous une chaine eternelle;

Mais pour tout ce qui n'eft point elle,
Amour, je ne veux plus aimer.

LOVE.

LOVE. But should I give thee charms t'obtain
Flora, the young, the bright, the gay!
I fee thee blufh-now, rebel, fay,
No, Love-I ne'er will love again.

POET. No, charming God, prepare a chain
Eternal for that fair and ine!

Yet still know every fair but the,
I've vow'd I ne'er will love again.

B

RECITATIVE.

EHOLD where weeping Venus ftands!
What more than mortal grief can move
The bright, th' immortal Queen of Love?
She beats her breast, she wrings her hands;
And hark, the mourns, but mourns in vain,
Her beauteous, lov'd Adonis, flain.
The hills and woods her lofs deplore ;
The Naiads hear, and flock around;

And Echo fighs, with mimick found,
Adonis is no more!

Again the goddefs raves, and tears her hair;
Then vents her grief, her love, and her despair.

A I R.

Dear Adonis, beauty's treasure,
Now my forrow, once my pleasure ;

O return to Venus' arms!

Venus never will forfake thee;
Let the voice of Love o'ertake thee,
And revive thy drooping charms.

RE