> Ungrateful, cruel Faults Suit not thy gentle Sex ; Hereafter, how will guilty Thoughts Thy tender Conscience vex! When welcome Death fhall bring Relief to wretched me, My Soul enlarg'd, and once on wing, When in thy lonely Bed, My Ghost its Moan fhall make, With faddeft Signs that I am dead, Struck with that conscious Blow, Thy very Soul will start; Pale as my Shadow thou wilt grow, And cold as is thy Heart. Too Too late Remorfe 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 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, Had I at Distance only feen When afterwards fo near I came, As to be scorch'd in Beauty's Flame; To To fo much Softness so 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, And all your Chains as Bracelets wore : 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, Whofe Memory will ever laft, But to fall from Heav'n is worse. I liv'd in Grief e'er this I knew, For ever fix'd on only Thee, Then all my Comfort is, I fhall Live in thy Arms, or not at all. VOL. I. The |