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ALMERIA then, feeling the Deftinies

About to fhut her Lips and close her Eyes;
Weeping, in mine fix'd her fair trembling Hand,
And with these Words I fcarce could understand,
Her Paffion in a dying Voice express'd ;

Half, and her Sighs alas! made out the reft.
'Tis paft; this Pang-Nature gives o'er the Strife;
Thou must thy Mistress lofe, and I my Life.
I die; but dying thine, the Fates may prove
Their Conqueft over me, but not my
Thy Memory, my Glory, and my Pain,
In spight of Death itself shall still remain.
Deareft ORONTES, my hard Fate denies

Love:

That Hope is the last thing which in us dies:

From my griev'd Breaft all those soft Thoughts are fled, And Love furvives it, tho' my Hope is dead;

Iyield my Life, but keep my Paffion yet,

•And can all Thoughts but of ORONTES quit ; My Flame increases as my Strength decays;

Death, which puts out the Light, the Heat will raise :

That

That still remains, tho' I from hence remove;

I lose my Lover, but I keep my Love.

The Sigh which sent forth that last tender Word, Up tow'rds the Heav'ns like a bright Meteor foar'd; And the kind Nymph, not yet bereft of Charms, Fell cold and breathless in her Lover's Arms.

Goddefs, who now my Fate haft understood,
Spare but my Tears, and freely take my Blood:
Here let me end the Story of my Cares,
My dismal Grief enough the rest declares.
Judge thou by all this Mifery display'd,
Whether I ought not to implore thy Aid:
Thus to furvive, Reproaches on me draws,
Never fad Wishes had so just a Cause.

Come then, my only Hope; in ev'ry place
Thou vifiteft, Men tremble at thy Face,

And fear thy Name: Once let thy fatal Hand
Fall on a Swain that does the Blow demand.
Vouchfafe thy Dart; I need not one of thofe,
With which thou do'ft unwilling Kings depofe:

A welcome Death the slightest Wound can bring,

And free a Soul already on her Wing,

Without thy Aid, most miserable I

Must ever wish, yet not obtain to die.

VOL. 1.

C

ODE

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That gentle, yet refiftless Heat,

Which raises Man to all things good and great :

While other Paffions of the Mind

To low Brutality debase Mankind,

By Love we are above our selves refin'd.

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Oh Love, thou Trance Divine! in which the Soul, Unclogg'd with worldly Cares, may range without Controul;

And foaring to her Heav'n, from thence infpir'd can teach

High Myfteries, above poor Reafon's feeble Reach.

II.

To weak old Age Prudence fomeAid may prove, And curb thofe Appetites that faintly move;

But wild, impetuous Youth is tam'd by nothing lefs than Love.

Of Men too rough for Peace, too rude for Arts,
Love's Power can penetrate the hardest Hearts;

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