ALMERIA then, feeling the Destinies
About to shut her Lips and close her Eyes;
Weeping, in mine fix'd her fair trembling Hand,
And with these Words I scarce could understand,
Her Passion in a dying Voice express’d;
Half, and her Sighs alas ! made out the rest.

'Tis past; this Pang-Naturegives o'er the Strife;
Thou must thy Mistress lose, and I my Life.
I die ; but dying thine, the Fates may prove
Their Conquest over me, but not my Love :
Thy Memory, my Glory, and my Pain,

, In spight of Death itself shall still remain. Dearest ORONTES, my hard Fate denies

That Hope is the last thing which in us dies: From my griev'd Breast all those soft Thoughts are filed, And Love survives it, tho'my Hope is dead Iyield my Life, but keep my Passion yet,

, *And can all Thoughts but of ORONTES quit; My Flame increases as my Strength decays; Death, which puts out the Light, the Heat will raise:

That

That still remains, thoʻI from hence remove;
I lose my Lover, but I keep my Love.

The Sigh which sent forth that last tender Word, Up tow'rds the Heav'ns like a bright Meteor soar'd; And the kind Nymph, not yet bereft of Charms, Fell cold and breathless in her Lover's Arms.

Goddess, who now my Fate haft understood,
Spare but my Tears, and freely take my Blood :
Here let me end the Story of my Cares,
My dismal Grief enough the rest declares.
Judge thou by all this Misery display'd,
Whether I ought not to implore thy Aid :
Thus to survive, Reproaches on me draws,
Never sad Wishes had so just a Cause.

Come then, my only Hope; in ev'ry place
Thou visitest, Men tremble at thy Face,
And fear thy Name: Once let thy fatal Hand
Fall on a Swain that does the Blow demand.
Vouchsafe thy Dart; I need not one of those,
With which thou do'st unwilling Kings deposc:

a

A welcome Death the slightest Wound can bring,
And free a Soul already on her Wing,
Without thy Aid, most miserable I
Must ever wish, yet not obtain to die.

That gentle, yet resistless Heat,
Which raises Man to all things good and great :
While other Pallions of the Mind

To low Brutality debase Mankind,
By Love we are above our selves refin’d.
Oh Love, thou Trance Divine! in which the Soul,
Unclogg’d with worldly Cares, may range without

Controul;
And soaring to her Heav'n, from thence inspir'd can

teach

High Mysteries, above poor Reason's feeble Reach.

II.

To weak old Age Prudence someAid may prove, And curb those Appetites that faintly move; But wild, impetuous Youth is tam’d by nothing less

than Love. Of Men too rough for Peace, too rude for Arts, Love's Power can penetrate the hardest Hearts ;