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'Tis true they fondly fet their Hearts

On things of no Delight;

To pafs 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 blest,
While I endure her Chains.

The

R

The DREA M.

EADY to throw me at the Feet

Of that fair Nymph whom I addre,

Impatient those 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 so,

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 disguis'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 transported Soul appear.

Then

Then you so much Kindness fhow,
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 such 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.

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

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

TH

To blefs the Man who fo adores ;

Nor give fo hard, unjust a Name,

To all those 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

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ye.

The

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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 should 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 foft diffembling Smiles;

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