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Those Eyes, tho’weeping, can no Pity move;
Worthy our Grief! More worthy of our Love!
You while so fair (do Fortune what she please)
Can be no more in Pain, than we at Ease:
Unless unsatisfied with all our Vows,
Your vain Ambition so unbounded grows,
That you repine a Husband should escape
Th' united Force of such a Face and Shape.
If so, alas, for all those charming Pow'rs,
Your case is just as desperate as ours.
Expect that Birds should only sing to you,
And, as you walk, that every Tree should bow;
Expect those Statues as you pass should burn;
And that with Wonder Men should 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 those, less sensible than these.
Then from so dull a Care your Thoughts remove,
And waste not Sighs you only owe to Love.

'Tis pity, Sighs from such a Breast should part,
Unless to ease some doubtful Lover's Heart į
Who dies because he must too justly prize
What yet the dull Poffeffor does despise.
Thus precious Jewels among

Indians grow,
Who, nor their Use, nor wondrous Value know ;
But we for those bright Treasures tempt the Main,
And hazard Life for what the Fools disdain..

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A LETTER from Sea.

FA

Airest, if Time and Absence can incline
Your Heart to wand'ring Thoughts no more

than mine;
Then shall my Hand, as changeless as my Mind,
From your glad Eyes a kindly Welcome find;
Then, while this Note my Constancy allures,
You'll be almost as pleas’d, as I with yours.
And trust me, when I feel that kind Relief,
Absence itself a while suspends its Grief:
So

may it do with you, but straight return;
For, it were cruel not sometimes to mourn
His Fate, who this long time he keeps away,
Mourns all the Night, and sighs out all the Day;

Grieving

I

Grieving yet more, when he reflects that you
Must not be happy, or must not be true.
But since to me it seems a blacker Fate
To be inconstant, than unfortunate;
Remember all those Vows between us past,
When I from all I value parted last ;
May you alike with kind Impatience burn,
And something miss, till I with Joy return;
And soon may pitying Heav'n that Blessing give,
As in the hopes of that alone I live.

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Love's Slavery.

GR

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 rest endure.

So I, who suffer cold Neglect

And Wounds from CELIA's Eyes, Begin extremely to respect

Thesc Fools that seem so wise,

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