Thofe Eyes, tho' weeping, can no Pity move;

Worthy our Grief! More worthy of our Love!
You while fo fair (do Fortune what she please)

Can be no more in Pain, than we at Eafe:
Unless unsatisfied with all our Vows,

Your vain Ambition fo unbounded grows,
That you repine a Husband should escape
Th' united Force of fuch a Face and Shape.
If fo, alas, for all those charming Pow'rs,
Your cafe is just as defperate as ours.
Expect that Birds fhould only fing to you,
And, as you walk, that every Tree fhould bow;
Expect those Statues as you pass should burn;
And that with Wonder Men fhould Statues turn;
Such Beauty is enough to give things Life,

But not to make a Husband love his Wife:

A Husband, worse than Statues, or than Trees;
Colder than thofe, lefs fenfible than these.
Then from fo dull a Care your Thoughts remove,
And wafte not Sighs you only owe to Love.

'Tis pity, Sighs from fuch a Breast should part,
Unless to cafe fome doubtful Lover's Heart;
Who dies because he must too justly prize

What yet the dull Poffeffor does defpife.
Thus precious Jewels among Indians grow,
Who, nor their Ufe, nor wondrous Value know;
But we for those bright Treasures tempt the Main,
And hazard Life for what the Fools disdain.

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,
From your glad Eyes a kindly Welcome find;
Then, while this Note my Conftancy affures,
You'll be almost as pleas'd, as I with yours.
And truft me, when I feel that kind Relief,
Absence itself a while fufpends its Grief;
So may it do with you, but ftraight return;
For, it were cruel not sometimes to mourn
His Fate, who this long time he keeps away,
Mourns all the Night, and fighs out all the Day;

I

Grieving

Grieving yet more, when he reflects that you
Muft not be happy, or must not be true.

But fince to me it seems a blacker Fate

To be inconftant, than unfortunate ;
Remember all thofe Vows between us paft,
When I from all I value parted laft;

May you alike with kind Impatience burn,
And something miss, till I with Joy return;
And foon may pitying Heav'n that Bleffing give,
As in the hopes of that alone I live.

Love's

GR

Love's Slavery.

RAVE Fops my Envy now beget,
Who did my Pity move;

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