On LUCINDA's Death.

HOME all ye doleful, dismal Cares,

That ever haunted guilty Mind!

The Pangs of Love when it defpairs,

And all thofe Stings the Jealous find: Alas, heart-breaking tho' ye be,

Yet welcome, welcome all to me!

Who now have loft-but oh! how much?
No Language, nothing can express,

Except my Grief; for fhe was fuch,

That Praises would but make her less.

Yet who can ever dare to raise

His Voice on her, unless to praise?

Free

Free from her Sex's smallest Faults,
And fair as Womankind can be ;
Tender and warm as Lover's Thoughts,
Yet cold to all the World but me.
Of all this nothing now remains,
But only Sighs and endless Pains!

To

To a Lady retiring into a
Monaftery.

HAT Breaft but yours can hold the double

WH

Fire

Of fierce Devotion, and of fond Defire?

Love would fhinc forth, were not your Zeal fo bright, Whose glaring Flames eclipfe his gentler Light: Lefs feems the Faith that Mountains can remove, Than this which triumphs over Youth and Love.

But shall some threat'ning Prieft divide us two What worse than that could all his Curfes do? Thus with a Fright some have refign'd their Breath, And poorly dy'd only for fear of Death.

Heav'n fees our Paflions with Indulgence ftill,

And they who love well, can do nothing ill.
While to us nothing but ourselves is dear,

Should the World frown, yet what have we to fear?

Fame,

Fame, Wealth, and Pow'r, those high-priz'd Gifts

of Fate,

The low Concerns of a less happy State,

Are far beneath us: Fortune's felf may take
Her Aim at us, yet no Impreffion make

Let Worldlings ask her Help, or fear her Harms;
We can lie fafe, lock'd in each other's Arms,
Like the bleft Saints, eternal Raptures know;
And flight thofe Storms that vainly reft below.
Yet this, all this you are refolv'd to quit ;
Ifee my Ruin, and I must submit:

But think, O think, before you prove unkind,
How loft a Wretch you leave forlorn behind.

Malignant Envy, mix'd with Hate and Fear,

Revenge for Wrongs too burdenfome to bear,
Ev'n Zeal itself, from whence all Mischiefs spring,
Have never done fo barbarous a Thing.

With fuch a Fate the Heav'ns decreed to vex

ARMIDA once, tho' of the fairer Sex ;

RINALDO fhe had charm'd with fo much Art,

Hers was his Pow'r, his Perfon, and his Heart;

Honour's high Thoughts no more his Mind could

move,

She footh'd his Rage, and turn'd it all to Love :
When freight a Gust of fierce Devotion blows,
And in a Moment all her Joys o'erthrows:
The poor ARMIDA tears her golden Hair,
Matchless till now, for Love, or for Despair.
Who is not mov'd while the fad Nymph complains?
Yet you now act what TASSO only feigns;

And after all our Vows, our Sighs, our Tears,
My banish'd Sorrows, and your conquer'd Fears;
So many Doubts, fo many Dangers past,
Vifions of Zeal muft vanquish me at last.

Thus, in great HOMER's War, throughout the Field
Some Hero ftill made all things mortal yield;
But when a God once took the vanquish'd Side,
The Weak prevail'd, and the Victorious dy❜d.

The