V. Love is the Salt of Life; a higher Tafte It gives to Pleasure, and then makes it laft. Mere common Counters of the Senfe, Defective both in Mettle and in Measure, A Lover's Fancy coins into a Treasure. How vaft the Subject! What a boundless Store The Mufes Sight, forbids me to give o'er! ELEGY TH HOU lovely Slave to a rude Husband's Will, By Nature us'd fo well, by him so ill! For all that Grief we see your Mind endure, While to a Tyrant you by Fate are ty'd, By Love you tyrannize o'er all befide: Thofe Those Eyes, tho' weeping, can no Pity move; Worthy our Grief! More worthy of our Love! Can be no more in Pain, than we at Ease: Your vain Ambition fo unbounded grows, But not to make a Husband love his Wife: A Husband, worse than Statues, or than Trees ; Tis pity, Sighs from fuch a Breast should part, What yet the dull Poffeffor does despise. A A LETTER from Sea. Aireft, if Time and Abfence can incline FA Your Heart to wand'ring Thoughts no more than mine; Then shall my Hand, as changeless as my Mind, I Grieving |