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Love is the Salt of Life; a higher Taste
It gives to Pleasure, and then makes it last.
Those sighted Favours which cold Nymphs dispense

Mere common Counters of the Sense,
Defective both in Mettle and in Measure,
A Lover's Fancy coins into a Treasure.
How vast the Subject! What a boundless Store
Of bright Ideas, shining all before
The Muses Sight, forbids me to give o'er!
But the kind God incites us various Ways,
And now I find him all my Ardour raise,
His Precepts to perform, as well as praise.

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Duchess of R_


HOU lovely Slave to a rude Husband's Will,

By Nature us'd so well, by him so ill ! For all that Grief we see your Mind endure, Your Glass presents you with a pleasing Cure; Those Maids you envy for their happier State, To have your Form, would gladly have your Fatci And of like Slavery each Wife complains, Without such Beauty’s Help to bear her Chains. Husbands like Him we every


may see,

But where can we beholda Wife like Thee?

While to a Tyrant you by Fate are ty’d, By Love you tyrannizc o’er all beside:


Those Eyes, thoʻweeping, can no Pity move; Worthy our Grief! More worthy of our Love! You while so fair (do Fortune what she please) Can be no more in Pain, than we at Ease: Unless unsatisfied with all our Vows, Your vain Ambition so unbounded grows, That you repine a Husband should escape Th’united Force of such a Face and Shape. If so, alas, for all those charming Pow'rs, Your case is just as desperate as ours. Expect that Birds should only sing to you, And, as you walk, that every Tree should bow; Expect those Statues as you pass should burn; And that with Wonder Men should Statues turn; Such Beauty is enough to give things Life, But not to make a Husband love his Wife : A Husband, worse than Statues, or than Trees; Colder than those, less sensible than these. Then from so dull a Care your Thoughts remove, And waste not Sighs you only owe to Love,

Tis pity, Sighs from such a Breast should

part, Unless to ease fome doubtful Lover's Heart Who dies because he must too justly prize What yet thę dull Poffeffor does despise. Thus precious Jewels among Indians grow, Who, nor their Use, nor wondrous Value know ; But we for those bright Treasures tempt the Maiņi, And hazard Life for what the Fools disdain.


A LETTER from Sea.

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Airest, if Time and Absence can incline
Your Heart to wand'ring Thoughts ng more

than mine;
Then shall my Hand, as changeless as my Mind,
From your glad Eyes a kindly Welcome find;
Then, while this Note my Constancy assures,
You'll be almost as pleas’d, as I with yours.
And truft mc, when I feel that kind Relief,
Absence itself a whilę suspends its Grief:
So may it do with you, but straight return;
For, it were cruel not sometimes to mourn
His Fate, who thịs long time he keeps away,
Mourns all the Night, and sighs out all the Day ;



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