'Tis true they fondly fet their Hearts

On things of no Delight;

To pass all Day for Men of Parts,
They pass alone the Night:

But CELIA never breaks their Reft;

Such Servants fhe difdains;

And fo the Fops are dully bleft,
While I endure her Chains.

The

R

The DREAM.

EADY to throw me at the Feet

Of that fair Nymph whom I adore,

Impatient thofe Delights to meet,

Which I enjoy'd the Night before;

By her wonted fcornful Brow,

Soon the fond Miftake I find

IXION mourn'd his Error fo,

When JUNO's Form the Cloud refign’d.

Sleep, to make its Charms more priz'd

Than waking Joys, which moft prevail,

Had cunningly itself difguis'd

In a Shape that could not fail.

There my CELIA'S fnowy Arms,
Breafts, and other Parts more dear,

Expofing new and unknown Charms,

To my tranfported Soul appear.

Then

1

Then you fo much Kindness show,
My Despair deluded flies;

And indulgent Dreams bestow

What your Cruelty denies.

Blush not that your Image, Love
Naked to my Fancy brought;

'Tis hard, methinks, to disapprove
The Joys I feel without your fault.

Wonder not a fancy'd Bliss

Can fuch Griefs as mine remove;

That Honour as fantastick is,

Which makes you flight fuch constant Love.

The Virtue which you value fo,

Is but a Fancy frail and vain; Nothing is folid here below,

Except my Love, and your Difdain.

To One who accufed him of being too fenfual in his Love.

T

HINK not, my Fair, 'tis Sin or Shame,

To blefs the Man who fo adores;

Nor give fo hard, unjuft a Name,

To all thofe Favours he implores.

Beauty is Heav'ns most bounteous Gift efteem'd,
Because by Love Men are from Vice redeem'd.

Yet wifh not vainly for a Love

From all the Force of Nature clear;

That is referv'd for those above,

And 'tis a Fault to claim it here.

For fenfual Joys ye fcorn that we should love ye;;

But Love without 'em is as much above ye.

VOL. I.

D

The

L

The WARNING.

OVERS, who waste your Thoughts and Youth

In Paffion's fond Extremes;

Who dream of Women's Love and Truth,

And doat upon your Dreams:

I fhould not here your Fancy take
From fuch a pleafing State,

Were you not fure at last to wake,
And find your Fault too late.

Then learn betimes, the Love which crowns

Our Cares, is all but Wiles;

Compos'd of falfe fantastick Frowns,

And soft diffembling Smiles ;