Ungrateful, cruel Faults

Suit not thy gentle Sex;

Hereafter, how will guilty Thoughts

Thy tender Confcience vex!

When welcome Death fhall bring

Relief to wretched me,

My Soul enlarg'd, and once on wing,"
In hafte will fly to thee.

When in thy lonely Bed,

My Ghost its Moan shall make,

With faddeft Signs that I am dead,
And dead for thy dear fake.

Struck with that conscious Blow,

Thy very Soul will start;

Pale as my Shadow thou wilt grow,

And cold as is thy Heart.

Too late Remorse will then

Untimely Pity show,

To him, who of all mortal Men

Did most thy Value know.

Yet, with this broken Heart,

I wish thou never be

Tormented with the thousand part
Of what I feel for thee.

On

On Apprehenfion of lofing what he had newly gain'd. In Imitation of Ovid.

URE I of all Men am the first

SUR

That ever was by Kindness curft,
Who muft my only Bliss bemoan,
And am by Happiness undone.

Had I at Distance only feen
That lovely Face, I might have been
With the delightful Object pleas'd,
But not with all this Paffion feiz'd.

When afterwards fo near I came,

As to be fcorch'd in Beauty's Flame;

To

To fo much Softnefs fo much Senfe,

Reason itself made no Defence.

What pleafing Thoughts poffefs'd my Mind

When little Favours fhew'd you kind:
And tho' when Coldnefs oft prevail'd,

My Heart would fink, and Spirits fail'd,
Yet willingly the Yoke I bore,

And all your Chains as Bracelets wore :
At your lov'd Fect all Day would lie,
Defiring, without knowing why ;

For, not yet bleft within your Arms,

Who could have thought of half your Charms ?

Charms of fuch a wondrous kind,
Words we cannot, must not find,
A Body worthy of your Mind:
Fancy could ne'er fo high reflect,
Nor Love itself such Joys expect.
After fuch Embraces paft,

Whofe Memory will ever laft,

}

Love is still reflecting back,

All my Soul is on a Rack:

To be in Hell's fufficient Curfe,

But to fall from Heav'n is worse.

I liv'd in Grief e'er this I knew,
But then I dwelt in Darkness too.
Of Gains, alas, I could not boast,
But little thought how much I lost.
Now Heart-devouring Eagerness,
And sharp Impatience to poffefs;
Now reftless Cares, confuming Fires,
Anxious Thoughts, and fierce Defires,
Tear my Heart to that degree,

For ever fix'd on only Thec,

Then all my Comfort is, I fhall

Live in thy Arms, or not at all,

VOL. I.

E

The