Thofe Eyes, tho' weeping, can no Pity move; Worthy our Grief! More worthy of our Love! Can be no more in Pain, than we at Eafe: Your vain Ambition fo unbounded grows, But not to make a Husband love his Wife: A Husband, worse than Statues, or than Trees; 'Tis pity, Sighs from fuch a Breast should part, What yet the dull Poffeffor does defpife. A A LETTER from Sea. F Aircft, if Time and Abfence can incline Your Heart to wand'ring Thoughts no more than mine; Then fhall my Hand, as changeless as my Mind, I Grieving Grieving yet more, when he reflects that you But fince to me it seems a blacker Fate To be inconftant, than unfortunate ; May you alike with kind Impatience burn, Love's GR Love's Slavery. RAVE Fops my Envy now beget, They by the right of wanting Wit, Are free from Cares of Love. Turks honour Fools, because they are By that Defect secure From Slavery and Toils of War, Which all the reft endure. So I, who fuffer cold Neglect And Wounds from CELIA's Eyes, Begin extremely to respect Thefe Fools that feem fo wife. Tis |