THE

SUBMISSION

A

By the fame Author.

H! Pardon, Madam, if I ever thought

Your smallest Favours could too dear be

bought;

And the juft greatness of your Servants Flame,
I did the poornefs of their Spirits Name;
Calling their due attendance, Slavery,

Your power of Life and Death, flat Tyranny;
Since now I yield, and do confefs, there is
No way too hard that leads to fuch a bliss.

So when Hippomanes beheld the Race,

Where Lofs was Death, and Conqueft but a

Face,

He

od amazed at the fatal ftrife,

ring that Love should dearer be than Life en he faw the Prize, no longer ftaid, ough thofe very dangers fought the Maid

on her too: O may his Conqueft prove Omen to my purer Love;

y

if the honour of all Victory

efiftance of the Vanquisht lie,

h, it may be, the leaft regarded Prize, he fmalleft Trophy of your Eyes.

CONSTANC

F

By the fame Author.

Ear not, My Dear, a Flame can neve

That is once kindled by fo bright an

Look on thy felf, and measure thence my Think what a Paffion such a Form muft m For though thy Beauty first allur'd my Sig Yet now I look on it but as the Light That led me to the Treafury of thy Mind, Whofe inward Virtue in that Feature fhin' That knot (be confident) will ever laft, Which Fancy ty'd, and Reafon has made So faft, that time (although it may difarn Thy Lovely Face) my Faith can never ha

Age, deluded when it comes, will find

Love remov'd, and to thy Soul affign'd. Paffion I have now, fhall ne'er grow lefs: though thy own Fair Self should it oppress. 'de'en hazard my Eternity,

but again, and 'twill a Heaven be.

THE

INDIFERENC

T

By the fame Author.

Hanks, Fair Urania, to your fcorn,

I now am free as I was born;

Of all the Pain that I endur'd,

By your late Coldness, I am Cur'd.

In lofing me, proud Nymph, you lofe The Humbleft Slave your Beauty knows; In lofing you, I but throw down

A Cruel Tyrant from her Throne.

I