Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

Verfe is the greatest Tribute I can bring;
Your Charms I could to future Ages fing;
Jewels and Gold will perish,-but the Fame
The Mufes give, fhall ever be the fame:
You check my generous Paffion when you crave,
Not that I'm loath to part with what I have;
Had you not afk'd me, I had freely gave.

}

****

ELEGY XI.

To Nape, praying her to deliver bis Letter to ber Miftrefs.

NA

By the fame Hand.

APE, who know'ft so well to fet the Hair,
And all the Fashions of the Modifh Fair.

Like Thee, no Lady's-Woman in the Town
Can forward an Intrigue, or pin a Gown ;
No Maid, than Thee, can boast a quicker Eye,
Nor fooner the four Husband's Coming fpy;
None can with better Art her Signs employ,
To tell the Lover, when her Lady's coy,
'Tis all a Feint, and she expects the Joy.
Thou who doft oft Corinna's Paffions move,
And kindle, when they cool, the Fire of Love;
Thou, who oft cur'ft Her of her falfe Alarms,
And bring'ft Her, tho' reluctant, to my Arms;

M 4

}

Here,

Here, Nape, take this Billet-doux, and bear
My Soul's foft Wishes to the absent Fair.
If I can guess, Thy Heart is not of Flint,
Nor is there the leaft Vein of Ir'n in't; 1
J, fomething in thy Looks, and Manners fee,
Above the Rudeness of thy low Degree;
A fofter Turn, to Pity more inclin'd,
Than vulgar Souls, a more complacent Mind;
Thou feel'ft, if I can guess, an equal Flame,
And thine, and my Diftemper is the fame:
If how I do, she asks, do thou reply,

For the dear Night, and Night's dear Joys, I die.
Tell her the Letter will the rest explain,

And does my Soul, and all its Hopes contain.
But Time, while I am speaking, flies; be fure
To give the Billet in a leisure Hour.

Don't be content with her imperfect View,
But make her, when he has it, read it thro'.
I charge thee, as fhe reads, obferve her Eyes,
Catch, if thou canft, her gentle Looks, and Sighs:
As these are fure Prefages of my Joy,

So Frowns and Low'rs my flatt'ring Hopes destroy.
Pray her, when he has read it, to indite

3

An Answer, and a long Epistle write.
I hate a Billet, where at once I view
A Page all empty, but a Line or Two.
Let her without a Margent fill it up,
And crowd it from the Bottom to the Top.
But why should I her pretty Fingers tire ?
A Word's enough, and all that I defire.

Ah

Ah Nape, let her only bid me come,,

The Page is large, which for that Word has room.
Her Letter, like a Conqu'ror's, fhall be bound
With Bays, for it with Conqueft fhall be crown'd.
The Billet fhall at Venus' Shrine be laid,
And this Infcription with Devotion made.
"Nafo, thy ever-faithful Votary,

"This Tablet, Venus, dedicates to thee.
"Tho' late it from the Log was cut, 'tis Now
"Become the facred Table of my Vow.i

ELEGY XII.

He curfes bis Letter because it was not Answer'd.

A

H pity me, my Friends! the cruel Fair

Will neither read my juft Complaint, nor hear.

'The Billet-doux I fent her, she return'd,

And e'en to ope the tender Letter scorn'd.
Ill was the Omen, for the Slave I fent
Tript at the Sill, as out of Doors he went.
If e'er You on an Errand go for Me,
More careful, Sirrah, how you stumble, be;
Step foberly, and warily along:

The End's ne'er right, if the Beginning's wrong.
Since thus, in vain, her Pity I implore,

I'll ne'er to Tablets truft my Passion more.

Nor with my Wax, for Death my Warrant Seal;
Worfe, than her Scorn, what Torture can I feel?

[blocks in formation]

From Combs of Corfica the Wax was ta'en,
The latent Poison was the Lover's Bane.

Bees there from venom'd Flow'rs their Honey fuck,
And furely to my Wax that Venom stuck.
Chance on the Seal did my Misfortune paint,
And fhew'd my Doom by the Vermilion Feint.
Curfe on the Inftruments of my Disgrace,
May you lie rotting in fome filthy Place,
By Carts run o'er, may you to Bits be torn,
And your Mishap revenge Corinna's Scorn.
The Man that first to smooth your Surface toil'd,
The Wooden Work with Hands impure defil'd.
'Twas Gallows-Timber, and was ne'er defign'd
To waft the Wishes of a tender Mind;
Nor grew to blefs, but to deftroy Mankind.
Gibbets and Racks should of the Wood be made,
And the rough Tools of all the murd'ring Trade.
Batts roofted in its Branches as it grew,

And Birds of Prey for Shelter thither flew :

The Vulture, and all Kinds of rav'nous Fowl,

}

There hatch'd their Young, and there the om'nous Owl. How mad to ufe fuch Tablets must I be?

Curft, and ill-fated, as their Parent Tree.

Were thefe fit Things foft Sentiments to bear,

And to a Lady tell a Lover's Care?

Lawyers, on you, might horrid Jargon write,

With Sound the Ear, with Sense the Soul to fright.
Well might your Plane the wicked Writings bear,
Where the rich Mifer robs the ruin'd Heir.

When I first purchas'd you, I fear'd no lefs,

Your Numbers even, made me doubt Succefs:

May

May you by Worms be in old Age devour'd,
And by all Mortals, as by me, abhor'd.

ELEGY XIII.

To the Morning, not to make Haste.

By an unknown Hand.

Aurora, rifing from old Tithon's Bed,

Does o'er the Eastern Skies her Rofes spread:
Stay, beauteous Morn, awhile thy Chariot stay,
Awhile with lagging Wheels retard the Day.
So may young Birds, as often as the Spring
Renews the Year, o'er Memnon's Ashes fing.
Now I lie folded in Corinna's Arms,

And all her Soul is mine, and all her Charms.
I now am to her panting Bosom prefs'd,
And now, if ever Lover was, am blefs'd.
As yet fweet Sleep fits heavy on our Eyes,
And warbling Birds forbid, as yet, to rife.
Stay, beauteous Morning; for to Lovefick Maids,
And Youths, how grateful are thefe dusky Shades ?
Ah stay, and do not from the blushing East,
With dawning Glories break our balmy Reft.
When Night's black Mantle does thofe Glories hide,
The Pilot by the Stars his Ship can guide,
And in Mid-sea a certain Course pursue,
As fafe as when he has thy Sun in View.

What

« AnteriorContinuar »