Mrs. Elizabeth Rowe.    

POEMS On Several OCCASIONS.  
Written by Philomela.  
LONDON: Printed for john Dunton at the Raven in jewen-street. 1696.   

Preface TO THE READER.  
THE occasion of this Preface is, to give the World some account of the Author of these Poems, as far as I'm permitted to do it: An Employment I the more willingly choose, because our Sex has some Excuse for a little Vanity, when they have so good Reason for't, and such a Champion among themselves, as not many of the other can boast of. We are not unwilling to allow Mankind the Brutal Advantages of Strength, they are Superior to ours in Force, they have Custom of their side, and have Ruled, and are like to do so, and may freely do it without Disturbance or Envy; at least they should have none from us, if they could but keep quiet among themselves. But when they would Monopolise Sense too, when neither that, nor Learning, nor so much as Wit must be allowed us, but all overruled by the Tyranny of the Prouder Sex; nay, when some of 'em won't let us say our Souls are our own, but would persuade us we are no more Reasonable Creatures than themselves, or their Fellow-Animals; we then must ask their Pardons if we are not yet so Completely possive as to bear all without so much as a murmur: We complain, and we think with reason, that our Fundamental Constitutions are destroyed; that here's a plain and an open design to render us mere Slaves, perfect Turkish Wives, without Properties, or Sense, or Souls; and are forced to Protest against it, and appeal to all the World, whether these are not notorious Violations on the Liberties of Freeborn English Women? This makes the Meekest Worm amongst us all, ready to turn again when we are thus trampled on; But alas! What can we do to Right ourselves? stingless and harmless as we are, we can only Kiss the Foot that hurts us. However, sometimes it pleases Heaven to raise up some Brighter. Genius then ordinary to Succour a Distressed People—; an Epaminondas in Thebes; a Timoleon for Corinth; (for you must know we Read Plutarch now 'tis Translated) and a Nassaw for all the World: Nor is our Defenceless Sex forgotten— we have not only Bunduca's and Zenobia's, but Sappho, and Behn's and Schurman's, and Orinda's, who have humbled. the most haughty of our Antagonists, and made 'em do Homage to our Wit, as well as our Beauty. 'Tis true, their Mischievous and Envious sex have made it their utmost endeavours to deal with us, as Hannibal was served at Capua, and to Corrupt that Virtue which they can no otherwise overcome: and sometimes they prevailed: But, if some Angels fell, others remained in their Innocence and Perfection, if there were not also some addition made to their Happiness and Glory, by their continuing steadfast. Angel's Love, but they love Virtuously and Reasonably, and neither err in the Object, nor the Manner: And if all our Poetesses had done the same, I wonder what our Enemies could have found out to have objected against us: However, here they are silenced; and I dare be bold to say, that whoever does not come extremely prejudiced to these Poems, will find in 'em that vivacity of Thought, that purity of Language, that softness and delicacy in the Love-part, that strength and Majesty of Numbers almost every where, especially on Heroical Subjects, and that clear and unaffected Love to Virtue; that height of Piety and warmth of Devotion in the Canticles, and other Religious Pieces; which they will hardly find exceeded in the best Authors on those Different Kind's of Writing, much less equalled by any single Writer.  
And now I have nothing more, I think, lies upon my Hands, but to assure the Reader, that they were actually Writ by a young Lady, (all, but some of the Answers, as is well-known to some Persons of Quality and Worth) whose NAME had been prefixed, had not her own Modesty absolutely forbidden it.  
The way of Thinking and Writing is all along the same, only varying with the Subject; and the Whole so very agreeable a mixture, that unless Philaret and myself, who have the Honour to be her Friends, and who persuaded her to Publish this First Volume, are very partial, 'tis more than probable, they will meet with so favourable a Reception with the Pious and Ingenious Reader, that we may e'er long prevail with Her to oblige the World with a Second Part, no way inferior to the former.  
Hardings-Rents, May 10th 1696. Elizabeth johnson.   

To The AUTHOR Of these POEMS, Known only by Report, and by Her WORKS.  

NO— 'tis in vain— attempt not to persuade!  
They were not, could not be by Woman made:  
Each Thought so strong, so finished every Line,  
All o'er we see so rich a Genius shine;  
O more than Man, we Cry, O Workmanship Divine!  
Courtly the Style as waller's, clear, and neat,  
Not Cowley's Sense more Beautiful, or great:  
Numerous the verse, as Drydens' flowing strain;  
Smooth as the Thames, yet Copious as the Main.   

But when the Author Royal Mary mourns,  
Or in soft Fires for gay Orestes burns  
Again, our sex's Pride is undeceived:  
A Soul so Soft in Man yet never lived.  
In vain, alas in vain our Fate we eat;  
We Read, and Sigh, and Love, and are undone:  
Circaean charms, and Female Arts we prove,  
Transported all to some New World of Love.  
" Now our Ears tingle, and each thick-drawn- Breath  
" Comes hard, as in the Agonies of Death:  
" Back to the panting Heart the purple Rivers flow,  
" Our Swimming Eyes, to see, our Feet unlearn to go:  
" In every trembling Nerve a short-lived Palsy reigns,  
" Strange Fevers boil our Blood, yet shudder through our Veins,  
Tyrannous Charmer hold● our Sense, our Souls restore!  
Monopolise not Love, nor make the World adore!   

Can Heavenly minds be angry! can she frown?  
What Thunders has one eager Thought pulled down?  
Diana thus by the bold Hunter found,  
Instead of Darts, shot angry Blushes round.  
O Goddess Spare— all white as Cypria Dove  
Is thy untarnisht Soul, and Loves as Angels Love;  
Honour and Virtue each wild-wish repel,  
And doubly sink 'em to their Native Hell.  
Saints may by thee their holiest Thoughts refine,  
And Vestal-Virgin's dress their Souls by thine,  
Sure none but you such Passion, could, restrain;  
None ever Loved like you, and Loved in vain.  
What Age can equal, what Historian find  
Such Tenderness, with so much Duty joined?  
Sapph and Behn reformed, in thee revive,  
In thee we see the chaste Orinda live.  
Thy works express thy Soul we read thee there,  
Not thine 〈◊〉 Pencil draws more like, or fair.  
As Flowers steal unobserved from Nature's Bed,  
And silent sweets around profusely shed,  
So you in Secret shades unknown unseen  
Commence at once a Muse, and Heroine.  
Yet you're in vain unknown, in vain would shroud  
That Sun, which shines too bright t' endure a cloud.   

Prepare then for that Fame which you despise!  
But when you're seen still hide, O hide your Eyes!  
Love Virtue, and adorned still let us see  
Such Wit and Beauty joined with Piety.  
Let Heaven and Heaven's Vicegerent always share  
Your noblest Thoughts, and your most Duteous care.  
WILLIAM's a Name, you're Fated to Record;  
No Pen but yours can match the Heroes Sword.  
If yond ASSOCIATE too, you'll guard Him (more   

Than all the Loyal Myriads gone before.  
Let hardened Traitors know what 'tis to ' abuse  
The Patience of a King and of a Muse.  
Let 'em no more a Monarch's Justice dare,  
Draw off his side, at once, and END THE WAR!  
These just, tho' poor Acknowledgements I send,  
From distant Shades, to heavens and Caesar's Friend:  
Those but debase, who weakly strive to raise,  
You'll ne'er grow vain with —'s humble praise.    

THE Contents.  
THE Contents.  
TO the Author of these Poems, known only by Report, and by her Works.  
Platonic Love 
Page 1  Humane Love, by a Country Gentleman, in Answer to Platonic Love 
3  To Mr.— on his Poem 
5  To Mrs. Marry Friend, knowing her but by Report 
7  Paraphrase on John 3. 16. For God so loved the World, that he gave his only Begotten Son, etc. 
8  The Expostulation 
12  To my Lady Carteret 
14  And though after my Skin, Worms destroy this Body, yet in my Flesh shall I see God, job 19 26. 
15  To Sir Charles Sedley 
16  To the Honourable Mrs. E. Stretchy 
17  A Pindaric Poem on Habbakuk 
18  The Athenians to the Compiler of the Pindaric now Recited 
21  A Poetical Question concerning the Jacobites, sent to the Athenians 
27  The Athenians Answer 
28  Upon King William's passing the Boyn, etc. 
30  The Vanity of the World, in a Poem to the Athenians 
33  The Athenians Answer 
35  The Rapture 
ibid.  A Paraphrase on the CANTICLES, Chap. I. 
36  Chap. II. 
39  Chap. III. 
42  Chap. IV. 
44  Chap. V. 
47  Chap. VI 
52  The Fable of Phaeron Paraphrased from Ovid's Metamorphosis 
56  The Wish, in a Poem to the Athenians, ●d Alphabet 
I  The Athenians Answer 
3  To one that persuades me to leave the Muses 
6  A Poem occasioned by the Report of the Queen's Death 
9  Paraphrase on John 21. 17. 
10  Paraphrase on Cant. 5,6, etc. 
13  A Pindaric to the Athenian Society 
15  Paraphrase on Revel. Chap. 1. from v. 13. to v. 18. 
19  To a very Young Gentleman at a Dancing-School 
22  To the same Gentleman 
23  A Pastoral 
24  To Celinda 
27  Thoughts on Death 
28  The Female Passion 
30  To Strephon 
31  Paraphrase on Malachy 3, 14. 
32  On Mrs. Rebekah 
34  By Dispair 
35  To Orestes 
37  The Athenians Answer to the foregoing Poem 
39  Paraphrase on Canticles, 7, 11 
40  Paraphrase on Micah, 6. 6, 7. 
41  The Reflection 
43  A Song 
44  To Madam S.— at the Court 
46  The Vision.— To Theron 
49  A Pastoral Elegy 
51  Parthenia, an Elegy 
57  The Reply to Mr.— 
59  A Pastoral on the Queen 
62  A Farewell to Love 
65    

POEMS ON Several Occasions.  

Platonic Love.  

I.  
SO Angels Love and all the rest is dross,  
Contracted, selfish, sensitive and gross.  
Unlike to this, all free and unconfined,  
Is that bright flame I bear thy brighter mind.   

II.  
No straggling wish, or symptom of desire,  
Comes near the Limits of this holy fire;  
Yet 'tis intense and active, though so fine;  
For all my pure immortal part is thine.   

III.  
Why should I then the Heavenly spark control,  
Since there's no brighter Ray in all my Soul,  
Why should I blush to indulge the noble flame,  
For which even friendship's a degrading name.   

IV.  
Nor is the greatness of my Love to thee,  
A sacrilege unto the Deity,  
Can I th' enticing stream almost adore,  
And not respect its lovely fountain more?    

HUMANE LOVE: By a Country GENTLEMAN, In Answer to PLATONIC LOVE.  

I.  
SO Angels love, So let them love for me;  
As mortal, I must like a mortal be.  
My Love's as pure as theirs, more unconfined;  
I love the Body, they but love the Mind.   

II.  
Without enjoyment, Can desire be ill?  
For that which would a Man with pleasure fill;  
This more intense and active, sure must be,  
Since I both Soul and Body give to thee.   

III.  
This flame as much of Heaven as that contains,  
And more, for unto that but half pertains:  
Friendship one Soul to th' other doth unite,  
But Love joins all, and therefore is more bright.   

IV.  
Neither doth— Humane Love— Religion harm,  
But rather us against our Vice's arm:  
Shall I not for a charming Mistress die?  
When Heaven commands increase and mulitply.    

To Mr.— on his POEM.  

I.  
SOme Tuneful Being now my Breast inspire  
With Thoughts as Gay and Noble as Celestial Fire;  
For Clitus is my Theme;  
But ah in vain born on Pindaric Wings,  
My venturous Muse  
The mighty Aim pursues;  
For to his Native Skies still Clitus mounts and Sings,  
And we are distant still to an extreme.   

II.  
Behold the Heavenly Charmer, how he keeps aloft;  
While Angels Crowd, and Listen to his Song;  
And not an Angel-Critick in the throng  
That durst correct a Thought.  
So Nobly are they Dressed,  
And Gracefully expressed;  
So smoothly glide the Numbers from his Tongue;  
So well his Touch the Charming Strings obey,  
That all his Heavenly Auditors Admire,  
To hear him wield an equal Theme with as much skill as they.  
His Voice and Theme did even their Harps inspire;  
And the Glad Anthem they repeat again,  
" Glory to God, Peace and goodwill to Men.    

TO Mrs. MARY FRIEND; Knowing her but by Report.  
'T Were both unjust and stupid to refuse  
To so much Worth, the Tribute of my Muse;  
Tho Saints, as well, may those Bright Forms express,  
That in a Rapture they conceive of Bliss;  
As I can give such Wondrous Charms their due,  
Or, Dress in Words, my Brighter Thoughts of You:  
Charming, and Gay, your Fair Idea seems  
As Gay, as if composed of Love and Beams;  
Such Heavenly Rays adorn your Lovely Eyes,  
That, by Imagination, they surprise,  
And, at your Feet, a Female Victim lies:  
But how, Fair Nymph, will your Approaches Fire,  
If Distant Charms such gentle thoughts inspire.   

PARAPHRASE  
On Joh. 3. 16— For God so loved the World, that he gave his only begotten Son, etc.  

I.  
YEs; so God loved the World; But where  
Are this Great Love's Dimensions?  
Even Angels stop; for, baffled here  
Are their vast Apprehensions.  
In vain they strive to Grasp the boundless thing;  
Not all their Comments can explain the mighty Truth I Sing.   

II.  
Yet still they pause on the Contents  
Of this Amazing Story;  
How he that filled the wide extents  
Of Uncreated Glory?  
He whom the Heaven of Heavens could not contain;  
Should yet within the Sacred Maids contracted Womb remain.   

III.  
They see him Born, and hear him Weep,  
To aggravate their Wonder;  
Whose Awful Voice had shaken the Deep,  
And Breathed his Will in Thunder:  
That Awful Voice, changed to an Infant's Cry;  
Whilst in a Feeble Woman's Arms he seems constrained to lie.   

IV.  
A God (Ah! Where are Humane boasts?)  
Extended in a Manger?  
The Lord of all the Heavenly Hosts  
Exposed to Scorn and Danger?  
The Only Blessed, the All-sufficient Weeps:  
But Oh, who Guides the Staggering World, while its Protector Sleeps?   

V.  
And canst thou Man ungrateful prove.  
When 'twas for thy Salvation,  
He left those Splendid Seats above,  
His late bright Habitation?  
Where all his Deity Shone, without the Alloy  
Of a Seraphic Vehicle, or deficated Clay.   

VI  
Where he Transcendently possessed  
The Fullness of Perfection:  
Tho here benighted and oppressed,  
The Type of all Dejection.  
He asks for Food, that gave the Raven's Bread;  
And the Great Founder of the World wants  
where to lay his Head.   

VII.  
But Oh what Dark Catastrophe  
Does Hell at last Conspire!  
Behold! upon a Cursed Tree  
The Lord of Life Expire:  
From this, Amazed, the Sun withdraws his Eye,  
Afraid to see his Maker Bleed, and the Eternal Dye.   

VIII.  
The Seraphims that thronged about,  
'Twixt Hope and Consternation;  
Now Blaze the Wondrous News throughout  
The Radiant Corporation:  
Who vainly strive the Mystery to scan,  
And Fathom the Stupendious Depths of this  
Great Love to Man.   

IX.  
He on the Rights of Justice stood,  
With their Exalted Nature,  
That now, through Streams of Sacred Blood  
Wafts the Terrestrial Creature;  
Wafts Dufty-Man to that Felicity,  
Which the Apostate Son of Light must never hope to see.    

THE Expostulation.  

I.  
HOw long, great God, a wretched captive here,  
Must I these hated marks of bondage wear?  
How long shall these uneasy chains control  
The willing flights of my impatient Soul?  
How long shall her most pure intelligence  
Be strained through an infectious screen of gross, corrupted sense?   

II.  
When shall I leave this darksome house of clay;  
And to a brighter mansion wing away?  
There's nothing here my thoughts to entertain,  
But one Tired revolution o'er again:  
The Sun and Stars observe their wont round,  
The streams their former courses keep: No Novelty is found.   

III.  
The same cursed acts of false fruition o'er,  
The same wild hopes and wishes as before;  
Do men for this so fond life caress,  
(That airy huss of splendid emptiness?)  
Unthinking sots: kind Heaven let me be gone,  
I'm tired, I'm sick of this dull Farce's repetition.    

To my Lady CARTERET.  
TOo great your Power, and too soft my Breast:  
The charming Inspiration to resist:  
But Oh in what bold Strain shall I begin,  
To breathe th' unusual Potent Instinct in?  
Such pleasing looks, in midst of Spring, adorn  
The Flowery Fields; so smiles the Beauteous Morn:  
But, What are these dull Metaphors to you?  
Or, What is all, my Fancy has in view?  
A Form more fine, more accurately wrought,  
Was ne'er conceived by a Poetic Thought?  
So mild your eyes, so beautiful and bright,  
That lovelier eyes did ne'er salute the Light;  
With such a gentle look, and such an air;  
So lovely, so exceeding sweet, and fair,  
To us, the Heavonly Messengers appear:  
Whilst Man too feeble for their bright extremes,  
With such soft Smiles as yours they're forced to allay their Beams.   
And, though after my Skin, Worms destroy this Body, yet in my Flesh shall I see God, Job 19 26. 

WHat though my Soul rend from the close embrace  
Of this material consort, take its flight,  
(Exiled the Confines of her Native place)  
And leave these eyes closed in a Dismal Night:  
She shall again resume the dear abode,  
And, clothed in Flesh, I shall behold my God.   

II.  
Tho in the Gloomy Regions of the Grave,  
Forgotten, and insensible I lie;  
That tedious night shall a bright morning have,  
The welcome dawnings of Eternity.  
My Soul shall then resume her old abode,  
And clothed in flesh, I shall behold my God.   

III.  
Although resolved unto my Native dust,  
It's proper part, each Element refine;  
Yet at my awful Maker's breath they must  
The Individual Particles resign:  
And then my Soul shall take her old abode,  
And clothed in Flesh, I shall behold my God.    

TO Sir CHAREES SEDLEY.  
But stay 'tis Sedley— and it were a crime  
For me to grasp a Subject so sublime:  
Since nothing but his own Celestial lays  
Are fit the Author of such flights to praise,  
Nor dare my thoughts make the unequal choice  
My Infant-muse has yet, but tried her tender voice.   

To the Honourable Mrs. E— Stretchy.  
THe Artful hand of Nature ne'er displayed  
More skill, then when your Charming Self was made:  
A Shape, a Face, and Mien so rare, that we  
Think you her boasted Masterpiece to be;  
Whilst that Bright Soul that Heaven has placed within,  
Makes every Charm with double-lustre shine:  
But since I on my Lyre can touch no String,  
Equal to those great Merits, I would Sing,  
Hopeless, to give such mighty Charms their due,  
I'll leave the World to Brighter Thoughts of you.   

A Pindaric POEM on HABBAKUK.  

I.  
WHen God from Teman came,  
And clothed in Glory from Mount- Paran shone,  
Dressed in th' unsufferable Flame  
That hides his dazzling Throne,  
His Glory soon eclipsed the once bright Titan's Rays,  
And filled the trembling Earth with Terror and Amaze.  
Resplondent Beams did crown his awful Head,  
And shining brightness all around him spread;  
Omnipotence he grasped in his strong Hand,  
And listening Death stood waiting on his dread Command;  
Waiting till his resistless Bolts he'd throw;  
Devouring Coals beneath his Feet did glow:  
All Nature's Frame did quake beneath his Feet,  
And with his Hand he the vast Globe did meet;  
The frighted Nations scattered,  
And at his sight the bashful Mountains sled,  
The everlasting Hills their Founder's Voice obey,  
And stoop their lofty Heads to make th' Eternal way.  
The distant Ethiopes all Confusion are,  
And Midian's trembling Curtains cannot hide their Fear:  
When thy swift Chariots passed the yielding Sea,  
The blushing Waves back in amazement flee,  
Affrighted jordan stops his flowing Urn,  
And bids his forward Streams back to their Fountain turn.   

(2.)  
Armed with thy mighty Bow,  
Thou marchedst out against thy daring Foe:  
And very terrible thou didst appear  
To them, but thus thy darling People cheer.  
" Know, Iacob's Sons, I am the God of Truth,  
" Your Father Iacob's God, nor can I break my Oath.  
The Mountains shook as our dread Lord advanced,  
And all the little Hills around 'em danced:  
The neighbouring Streams their verdant Banks o'erflow,  
The Waters saw and trembled at the sight,  
Back to their old Abyss they go,  
And bear the News to everlasting Night:  
The Mother Deep within its hollow Caverns roars.  
And beats the silent Shores.  
The Sun above no longer dares to strive,  
Nor will his frighted Steeds their wont journey drive.  
The Moon, to see her Brother stop his Car,  
Grew pale, and curbed her sable Reins for Fear,  
Thy threatening Arrows gild their flaming way,  
And at the glittering of thy Spear the Heathen dare not stay;  
The very sight of thee did them subdue,  
And armed with Fury thou the victory didst pursue.  
So now, great God, wrapped in avenging Thunder,  
Meet thine and William's Foes, and tread them grovelling under.    

The ATHENIANS  
To the Compiler of the Pindaric now Recited.  

(1.)  
WE yield! we yield! the Palm, bright Maid! be thine!  
How vast a Genius sparkles in each Line!  
How Noble all! how Loyal! how Divine!  
Sure thou by Heaven-inspired, art sent  
To make the Kings and Nations Foes repent,  
To melt each Stubborn Rebel down,  
Or the Almighty's hovering Vengeance show,  
Armed with his glittering Spear and dreadful Bow,  
And yet more dreadful Frown.  
Ah would they hear! ah would they try  
Th' exhaustless Mercy yet in store  
From Earth's and Heaven's offended Majesty,  
Both calmly ask, Why will they die?  
Ah! would they yet Repent, and sin no more!   

(2.)  
How blessed, how happy we,  
Could all we write one Convert make,  
How gladly New Assronts could take  
One Convert to dear Virtue, and dear Loyalty?  
Tho' the full Crop reserved for thee.  
Oh Virgin! touch thy Lyre:  
What Fiend so stubborn to refuse  
The soft, yet powerful Charms of thy Celestial Muse?  
What gentle Thoughts will they inspire!  
How will thy Voice, how will thy Hand,  
Black Rebel-Legions to the Deep Command!  
Black Rebel-Legions murmuring take their flight,  
And sink away to conscious Shades of everlasting Night:  
While those they left, amazed stand,  
And scarce believe themselves, themselves to find  
Clothed, calm, and in a better Mind.   

(3.)  
Begin, begin, thy Noble Choice,  
Great William claims thy Lyre, and claims thy Voice,  
All like himself the Hero show,  
Which none but thou canst do.  
At Landen paint him, Spears and Trophies round,  
And Twenty thousand Deaths upon the slippery ground:  
Now, now the dreadful Shock's begun,  
Fierce Luxemburg comes thundering on:  
They charge, retreat, return and fly,  
Advance, retire, kill, conquer, die!  
Tell me, some God, what Gods are those  
Enwrapped in Clouds of Smoke and Foes,  
Who oft the tottering Day restore?  
'Tis William and Bavaria, say no more!  
William— that loved, that dreadful Name!  
Bavaria! Rival of his Fame.  
A third comes close behind, who should he be?  
'Tis Ormond! mighty Ormond! sure 'tis he:  
'Tis nobly fought-they must prevail;  
Ah no, our Sins weigh down the doubtful Scale.  
Ah thankless England, they engaged for thee,  
Or never could have missed the Victory:  
With high Disdain from the moist Field they go,  
And dreadfully Retreat, yet Face the trembling Foe.   

(4.)  
Thus Sing, Bright Maid! thus and yet louder Sing,  
Thy God and King!  
Cherish that Noble Flame which warms thy Breast,  
And be by future Worlds admired and blessed:  
The present Ages short-lived Glories scorn,  
And into wide Eternity be born!  
There chaste Orinda's Soul shall meet with thine,  
More Noble, more Divine;  
And in the Heaven of Poetry for ever shine:  
There all the glorious few,  
To Loyalty and Virtue true,  
Like her and you.  
'Tis that, 'tis that alone must make you truly great,  
Not all your Beauty equal to your Wit,  
(For sure a Soul so fine  
Would ne'er possess a Body less divine)  
Not all Mortality so loudly boast,  
Which withers soon and fades,  
Can aught avail when hurried to th' uncomfortable Coasts,  
Where wander wide lamenting Ghosts,  
And thin unbodyed Shades.  
'Tis Virtue only with you goes,  
And guards you through Ten thousand Foes;  
Hold fast of that, 'twill soon direct your flight  
To endless Fame and endless Light;  
If that you lose, you sink away,  
And take eternal leave of Day.  
Then fly false Man, if you'd an Angel prove,  
And consecrate to Heaven your Nobler Love.    

A Poetical Question concerning the Jacobites, sent to the Athenians.  
'TWas nobly thought, and worthy— still;  
So I resolved ' employ my Loyal Quill.  
Virtue, and our unequalled Hero's praise!  
What Themes more glorious can exact my Lays  
William! A Name my Lines grow proud to bear!  
A Prince as Great, and wondrous Good, as e'er  
The sacred Burden of a Crown did wear.  
Resolve me, then, Athenians, what are those,  
(Can there be any such?) You call his Foes?  
His Foes, Cursed word, and why they'd pierce his breast,  
Ungrateful Vipers! where they warmly rest?   

The Athenians Answer.  

THeir Name is Legion, grinning from a far  
Against the Throne, who wage unequal War;  
Tho' nearer, on perpetual Guard, attends  
A far more numerous Host of brighter Friends:  
Around our Prince, heavens Care, the sacred Band  
With fiery Arms in firm Battalia stand:  
To him mild Light, and Lambent Beams they show,  
But Wrath and Terror to his hardened Foe.  
See the black Phalanx melt, they melt away,  
As guilty Ghosts slink from approaching Day,  
Behold their Leaders, decked in horrid State,  
Nor wonder why they Heaven and Caesar hate.   

First mark their haughty General, armed complete  
In Plates of glowing Steel! ' 'tis Lucifer the great!  
See his proud Standard o'er his Tent enlarged!  
With bloated Toads, an odious Bearing, charged.  
The ancient Arms which once his Shield adorned,  
Tho' 'tis of late to Flour-de-Lis's turned.   

Blasphemous Belial! next thy Squadrons stand!  
Lawless and Lewd, a baffled blasted band,  
Each holds a kindled Pamphlet in his hand.   

These make the Gross, the rest we may dedespise,  
(Retailers they of Treason, and of Lies)  
Lucifer's Friends, and Caesar's Enemies.  
Ah were there none but these, who would not be  
Proud and Ambitious of their Enmity!  
There's one small party, near, too near their Line,  
Which hover yet, and scarce know which to join.  
No black, no ugly marks of Sin disgrace  
Their nobler Forms, no malice in their Face:  
A Duskier Gleam they wear then e'er they fell,  
Their Plumes just scorched, too near allied to Hell.  
What mad mistaken bravery draws 'em in,  
Where Constancy's no Virtue but a Sin?  
How can they still their fallen Prince esteem?  
When false to Heaven, why are they true to him?  
O! must they sink! a glorious Starry Race!  
They are almost too good, for that sad place.  
That waits their Fall: It must not, cannot be,  
If err we do, we'll err with Charity,  
Father! they may be Saved! we'll join with Thee!    

Upon King William's passing the Boyn, etc.  
WHat mighty genius thus excites my Breast  
With flames too great to manage or resist;  
And prompts my humbler Muse at once to Sing,  
(Unequal Task) the Hero and the King.  
Oh were the potent inspiration less!  
I might find words its Raptures to express;  
But now I neither can its force control,  
Nor paint the great Ideas of my Soul:  
Even so the Priests Inspired, left half the Mind  
Of the unutterable God behind.  
Too soft's my Voice the Hero to express;  
Or, like himself, the Warlike Prince to dress;  
Or, speak him Acting in the dreadful Field,  
As Brave Exploits as e'er the Sun beheld;  
(Secure, and Threatening as a Martial God,  
Among the thickest of his Foes he Road;  
And, like an Angry Torrent forced his way  
Through all the Horrors that in Ambush lay:)  
Or at the Boyne describe him as he stood  
Resolved, upon the edges of the Flood:  
On, on, Great William; for no Breast but Thine,  
Was ever urged with such a Bold Design:  
Indulge the Motions of this Sacred Heat;  
For none but thee can wield a thought so great.  
He's launched, he's launched; the foremost from the Shore;  
The Noblest Weight that e'er the River Bore.  
To smooth their Streams, the smiling Naides haste;  
And, Rising, did him Homage as he passed:  
And all the shapes of Death and Horror—  
No more— ah stay— though in a cause so good;  
'Tis pity to expend that Sacred Blood.  
Why wilt thou thus the boldest Dangers seek,  
And foremost through the Hostile Squadrons break?  
Why wilt thou thus so bravely venture all?  
Oh, where's unhappy Albion, shouldst thou fall?  
Keep near him still, you kind AEthereal Powers;  
That Guard him, and are pleased, the Task is yours.  
All the Ill Fate that threatens him oppose;  
Confound the Forces of his Foreign Foes,  
And Treacherous Friends less generous than those;  
May Heaven success to all his Actions give,  
And long, and long, and long, let WILLIAM live:   

The Vanity of the World, In a Poem to the Athenians.  
WHat if serenely blest with Calms I swum  
Pactolus! in thy golden Sanded stream?  
Not all the wealth that lavish Chance could give  
My soul from Death could one short Hour reprieve.  
When from my Heart the wand'ring Life must move  
No Cordial all my useless Gold could prove.  
What tho' I plunged in joys so deep and wide,  
'Twould tire my Thoughts to reach the distant side,  
Fancy itself 'twould tyre to plumb the Abyss;  
If I for an uncertain Lease of this  
Sold the fair hopes of an eternal bliss?  
What if invested with the Royal State  
Of dazzling Queens, adored by Kings I sat?  
Yet when my trembling Soul's dislodged would be  
No Room of State within the Grave for me.  
What if my Youth, in Wits and Beauties' bloom  
Should promise many a flattering Year to come:  
Tho' Death should pass the beauteous Flourisher,  
Advancing Time would all its Glory mar.  
What if the Muses loudly sang my Fame,  
The barren Mountains echoing with my Name?  
An envious puff might blast the rising Pride.  
And all its bright conspicuous Lustre hide.  
If o'er my Relics Monuments they raise  
And fill the World with Flattery, or with Praise,  
What would they all avail, if sink I must,  
My Soul to endless shades, my Body to the dust?   

The Athenians Answer.  
NOthing, Ah nothing! Virtue only gives  
Immortal praise that only ever lives:  
What pains wait Vice, what endless Worlds of Woe  
You know full well, but may you never know.   

The RAPTURE.  

1.  
LOrd● if one distant glimpse of thee  
Thus elevate the Soul,  
In what a height of Ecstasy  
Do those blessed Spirits roll,   

2.  
Who by a fixed eternal View  
Drink in immortal Rays;  
To whom unveiled thou dost show  
Thy Smiles without Allays?   

3.  
An Object which if mortal Eyes.  
Could make approaches to,  
They'd soon esteem their best-loved Toys  
Not worth one scornful View.   

4.  
How then, beneath its load of Flesh  
Would the vexed Soul complain!  
And how the Friendly Hand she'd bless  
Would break her hated Chain!    

A Paraphrase on the CANTICLES.  

CHAP. I.  

(1)  
WIlt thou deny the bounty of a Kiss,  
And see me languish for the Melting bliss?  
More sweet to me than bright delicious Wine,  
Pressed from the Purple clusters of the Vine:  
As Fragrant too as Ointments poured forth,  
Are the loud Echoes of thy matchless worth;  
Which makes the Virgins, kindled by thy fame,  
Wish to expire in the Celestial Flame:  
Come then, display thy Lovely Face, and we,  
Drawn by resistless Charms, will follow thee;  
Into thy Royal Chambers brought, where I,  
May see my Lord, and fear no Witness by.   

I'm black, 'tis true, for scorching in the Sun;  
I kept another's Vine, and left my own;  
But though thus Clouded, the reflecting Face  
Of my Bright Love shall all this blackness chase.   

Say then my Dear, much dearer than my Soul;  
Where feed thy Milky Flocks? Unto what cool  
Refreshing Shade dost thou resort? least I  
Should (as I languish) in thy absence die:  
Say, Lovely Shepherd, say, What happy Streams  
Are gilded now with thy Illustrious Beams?   

(2)  
I'll tell thee, Fairest of all Women, how,  
Thou mayst my most frequented Pastures know.  
Follow the Footsteps of my Flocks, and there  
I will not fail to Meet my Charming Fair.  
Whom I, as Mistress of my Flocks will Grace,  
And on her Brows immortal Garlands Place.   

(3)  
The while my Spicknard shall ascend, and Greet  
My Charmer with its Tributary Sweet:  
Then, all the Night, upon my Panting Breast,  
As Fragrant Myrrh; let my Beloved Rest.  
So Sweet he is, that Myrrh, nor Cypress ere  
With such Delicious Breathe filled the Air.  
When thy Two Lovely Eyes Inflame my Heart,  
It leaps for joy, and meets th' unerring Dart.   

(4)  
Oh thou more Fair, more vastly bright, than all  
The World did ever Bright, or Glorious call:  
My Verdant Love still flourishing, to thee  
Shall sixth, as our Eternal Mansions be.    

CHAP. II.  

(1)  
AT thy Approach, my Cheek with Blushes glows,  
And Conscious warmth, which with Thee comes and goes;  
Like the Pale Lily joined to Sharon's-Rose;  
And Thorns to them I sooner would compare,  
Then other Beauties to my Darling Fair.   

(2)  
And I as soon would rank a Fruitful Tree  
With barren shrubs, as Mortal clods with thee.  
Beneath thy Shade, blest, to my wish, I sat,  
And of thy Royal Banquet freely eat;  
Whilst o'er my head a Banner was displayed:  
In which, oh Melting Sight, the God of Love did Bleed.  
Excess of Pleasure will my Soul destroy;  
I'm even oppressed with the Tyrannic Joy:  
Oh therefore turn thy Lovely Eyes away;  
(Yet do not, for I die unless they stay.)  
I faint, I faint; alas! no Mortal yet,  
With eyes undazled half this Splendour met:  
But sure I cannot sink, upheld by Thee;  
So would I rest unto Fternity.  
And now I charge you, Virgins, not to make  
The least disturbance, till my Love awake,   

(3)  
What Charming Voice is that Salutes my Ear?  
It must be my Beloved's; he is near:  
He is, and yet unfriendly stays without:  
He ●●ays, as if he did a welcome doubt.  
But hark, methinks I hear him softly say;  
Arise my Fair, arise, and come away!  
For lo the Stormy Winter's past and gone;  
And Summer, Dressed in all her Pride, comes on:  
The Warbling Birds in Airy Raptures Sing  
Their glad Pindaricks to the Wellcome-Spring:  
The Figtrees sprout, the Cheerful Vines look Gay;  
Arise my Lovely Fair, and come away!  
Come Forth, my Dove, my Charming Innocence;  
How canst thou Fear while I am thy Defence?   

(4)  
Do thou the Spiteful Foxes than Destroy,  
That would my Young Aspiring Vines Annoy.  
Not for the World would I exchange my Bliss,  
While my Beloved's Mine, and I am His.  
And till the break of that Eternal Day,  
Whose Rising Sun shall chase the Shades away;  
Turn, my Beloved, turn again; and thy  
Dear sight shall make the lazy Moment's fly.    

CHAP. III.  

'tWas in the deadness of a Gloomy Night,  
My Love, more pleasant than the wished-for Light,  
O'er all my Bed I vainly sought; for there  
My Arms could Grasp no more than empty air:  
Grieved with my Loss, through all the streets I rove,  
And every Ear with soft Complaints I move:  
Then to the Watch, Impatient, thus I Cry;  
Tell me, O tell! Did not my Love pass by?  
When lo, a Glimpse of my approaching Lord,  
A Heaven of joy did to my Soul afford:  
So the dark Souls consigned to endless Night,  
Would smile, and wellcome-in a beam of Light.  
I Clasps him, just as meeting Lovers would,  
That had the stings of Absence understood:  
I held him fast, and Centring in his Breast,  
My ravished Soul found her desired Rest.  
Him to my Mother's House I did convey;  
Humble it was, and yet he deigned to stay.  
And now I charge you, Virgins, not to make  
The least disturbance, till my Love awake.   

(Bridegroom.)  
Glorious as Titan, from the Eastern Seas  
A Beauty comes from yond dark Wilderness:  
So Sacred Incense proudly rises up  
In cloudy Pillars of perfumed smoke:  
Compounded Spices of the greatest cost  
Could ne'er such Aromatic sweetness boast.   

(Bride.)  
The Shining Courts of Princely Solomon  
Were nobly crowded with a Warlike Train:  
All Armed completely, all Expert in Fight,  
To Guard him from the Terrors of the Night.  
A Chariot Royal too himself he had;  
Its Pillars of refined Silver made:  
The Seats of Gold, fair Purple Clouds above;  
And, all the bottom, softly paved with Love.  
But lo, a Prince then Solomon, more great;  
On whom vast Troups of shining Angels wait:  
His Crown more bright, and fixed, than that which shone  
Upon the Nuptial brows of Solomon.    

CHAP. IU.  

(Bridegroom.)  
Tho' all the lower World should ransacked be,  
There could be found no parallel for thee:  
Thy Eyes like Doves, thy fair intangling Locks,  
Curled, and soft as Gileads Milky Flocks:  
Like them thy Pearly Teeth appear, for so  
Vnsullyed from the Crystal Streams they go.  
But oh! To what may I thy Lips compare?  
Since fragrant Roses Bloom not half so fair.  
The Morning ne'er with such a Crimson blushed,  
When from the Arms of sooty Night she rushed.  
The ripe Pomegranates Scarlets are but faint,  
To those fresh Beauties that thy Cheeks do paint.  
Thy Neck and Breasts, in Whiteness, do outgo  
Vngathered Lilies, or descending Snow.  
And till the dawn of that expected Day,  
When all my Radiant Glories I display,  
And Chase, at once, the Injurious Shades away:  
I'll on the Hills of Frankincense reside,  
And pass the time with thee my Charming Bride;  
My Love, in whom such vast perfections meet,  
As renders her transcendently complete:  
Then, come with me, from Lebanon, my Spouse,  
O come, and look beyond this Scene of woes:  
Thou may'st, and yet it is but darkly, see  
The bright abodes I have prepared for thee:  
So sweet she looks, that in blest Transports I,  
Meet the believing glances of her eye;  
My All on Earth, my Sister, and my Spouse;  
Whom, from a Vast Etornity I chose:  
Not Golden Goblets, Crowned with noble Wine  
e'er gave such Elevating joys as Thine;  
Such, as the soft expressions of thy Love;  
So much those dear, those charming accents move.  
My Love is like a Flowery Mansion Walled,  
Or some reserved Crystal Fountain sealed;  
Whose Waves, untouched, through secret Channels slide,  
Untainted, as the Silver Streams, that glide  
From Heaven, assaulting Lebanon; and fair,  
As Beauteous Eden's Gilded Currents were.   

(Bride.)  
Were I a Garden, every Flower in me  
Should proudly yield their conscious Sweets to thee,  
The ruddy fruits should thy arrival great,  
And Smile, and gently bend, thy Lips to meet.   

Bridegroom.  
So strongly thy kind Invitations move,  
I will my Garden see, my Garden, and my Love.  
Not Hybla's Hives such precious Sweets can yield,  
Nor Clusters brought from rich Engady's Field,  
Which, to my lips, I'll raise with eager haste;  
My Lips that longed the Heavenly Fruit to taste.    

CHAP. V.  

THe Night her blackest Vestments had put on,  
And all the fair remains of day were gone:  
When my dear Lord, as he had oft before,  
With Speed and Love approached the bolted Door:  
Arise, my Love, he cries, and with a Voice,  
Divinely charming, pleads his entrance thus;  
My Spouse, my Sister, and my fairest Love,  
(Believing, sure, that Dialect would move;)  
Arise, for loaden with the Midnight Dew,  
Disordered, all my streaming Tresses flew:  
I knew the Voice, the moving Eloquence;  
But ah! deluded by my drowsy sense;  
Careless, and Soft, upon a Mossy Bed,  
I leaned Supine, with Odorous Roses spread;  
And long, with weak Excuses, did delay,  
Amazing him at my unwonted stay.  
Moved, with his Patience, my relenting Breast,  
Forgetting now to say, I am Undressed.  
Unto the Door, at length, I rushed, in spite  
Of Darkness, and the Terrors of the Night;  
With Rage, to break the guilty Bars I tried,  
Which Entrance to my Lord so long denied:  
But found the dear resenting Charmer fled,  
I cursed my Sloth, and cursed my conscious Bed.  
Yet such a fragrant Sweetness filled the Air  
From his dear Hands, I thought he had still been  
I called aloud, still hoping he was near,  
And louder still, but Ah! he would not hear.  
Then through the Streets, distracted with my Grief   

I wildly roving, begged of all, relief.  
At last I met th' ungentle Watch, and they  
Deride my Tears, and for ●e my Veil away.  
Ye tender Virgins! you that know the pain  
A Breast so soft as mine must needs sustain,  
Robbed of the once kind Partner of my Fires,  
And still dear Object of my racked desires;  
I charge you, if you meet my absent Love,  
With all the Rhetoric of our Sex, to move  
His deafened Ears; and tell him, with a Sigh,  
Deep as my Wounds, ah tell him how I die.  
— Perhaps that Tragic Word may force the dear  
Relentless Author of my Grief to hear.   

Daughters of Jerusalem.  
What thy Beloved is, we first would know,  
Fairest of Women! thou dost charge us so.  
What Charms unequalled in him dost thou see,  
Impatient Fair! to raise these Storms in thee?   

Sponsa.  
Commencing all Perfection, he is such  
Your most exalted Thoughts can hardly touch,  
Unsullied heaps of Snow are not so white,  
He's Fairer than condensed Beams of Light.  
His Rosy Cheeks of such a lucent Die,  
As Sol ne'er gilded on the morning Sky.  
His Head like polished Gold, his graceful Hair,  
Dark as the Plumes that jetty Ravens wear.  
His Eyes, the endless Magazines of Love,  
How soft! how sweet! how powerfully they move!  
He breathes more sweetness than the Infant Morn,  
When Heavenly Dews the Flowery Plains Adorn.  
The Fragrant Drops of Rich Arabian Gums  
Burnt on the Altar, yield not such Perfumes.  
His Hands, surpassing Lilies, graced with Gems  
Fit to Enrich Celestial Diadems.  
His Breast smooth Ivory, Enamelled all  
With Veins, which Saphires 'twere unjust to call  
Divine his Steps, with his Majestic Air,  
Not even the Lofty Cedars can compare.  
So sweet his Voice, the listening Angels throng  
With silent Harps to th' Music of his Tongue,  
— He's altogether— Lovely, This is He,  
Now, Virgins! Pity, tho' you envy Me.    

CHAP. VI  

(Virgins.)  
BUt where, ah where can this bright wonder be  
For, till we see Him, we are all on Fire;  
We'll find Him out, or in the search Expire.   

(Bride.)  
If my Prophetic Hopes can rightly guests,  
The Lovely Wanderer in his GARDEN is  
Among the Lilies, and the Spices; He  
Is now perhaps kindly expecting Me;  
Oh 'tis a Heaven of joy to think him Mine.   

(Bridegroom.)  
And who can see those Eyes and not be thine?  
Thy Face, where all the Conquering Graces meet;  
Where Majesty doth Virgin-softness greet:  
Ah turn away those Fair Approachless Eyes;  
I Love, but cannot bear the kind Surprise.  
Hide, hide the intangling glories of thy Hair;  
More bright than Streams of Fluid Silver are:  
Expose no more thy Pearly Teeth, the while  
Those Rosy Cheeks put on kind looks and smile:  
Such genuine charms, how strongly they allure  
My Soul, and all their rival's beams obscure.  
They're numberless, my Spouse, my Darling Fair;  
But one, the Choice, and all her Mother bare.  
The Royal Beauties saw, the blessed the Sight;  
And Setting, wondered at a Star so Bright.  
Who is't, they say, Fair as the breaking Morn,  
When ruddy beams the bashful Skies adorn?  
Clear as the Lamp that Gilds the Sable Night;  
Dazzling as Sols unsufferable Light:  
Gentle, but awful, as a Scene of War;  
At once her Graces conquer and Endear.  
And couldst thou think, my Love, I e'er designed  
To leave a Spouse so Beautiful and Kind?  
I went but down into the Almond-grove,  
A Loan- recess, indulgent to my Love;  
Thence ranged the pleasant Vale, whose Spreading Vine  
May quit my care perhaps with Bounteous Wine:  
Where the Pomgranets Blooming- Fruits display  
More Sanguine-Colours than the Wings of Day:  
Or e'er I was aware, my happy Eyes  
Met Thee, a Juster Object of surprise;  
Fair as a Vision breaking from the Skies:  
Scarce could my Breast my leaping heart retain;  
Scarce could my Soul the unwieldy Joy sustain,  
When I beheld those welcome Eyes again.  
But why that Discontent upon the Brow?  
Thou wilt not leave me, Cruel Beauty, now!  
Injurious Charmer, stay— What needs this Art,  
To try the Faith of a Too-constant heart:  
Return again; let my Companions see  
The Sweet Inspirer of my Flames in Thee.  
Return, my Dear, return, and show the most  
Victorious Face that e'er the World could boast.     

THE FABLE of PHAETON Paraphrased From OVID's METAMORPHOSIS.  

WIth swelling thoughts fixed on his great intent,  
Now Phaeton had climbed the Sun's ascent;  
And to his radiant Father's Palace came;  
Whose heavenly seat looked blazoned all with flame:  
On Stately Pedestals erected high  
Above the Convex of the utmost Sky:  
It's Glorious Front, dazzled, yet pleased the sight,  
With vigorous sallies of AEthereal Light.  
The entrance, all divinely decked, was wrought,  
Beyond the invention of a humane thought;  
With various figures exquisite and bold,  
As the Amazing Novelties they told.  
Here awful Neptune rises from the deep,  
Around the peaceful Billows seem to sleep:  
Here dreadful Whales the Blust'ring Tritons stride,  
And raise a Silver Tempest as they glide:  
In mighty shells the lovely Nereids swim,  
And bluish gods the lofty billows climb.   

Wide from the Shore a pleasant scene of Land,  
With careless Beauty did itself expand:  
Here Mountains, Valleys, Springs, and Sacred Groves,  
Flocks, Herds, Unpolished Shepherds, and their Loves;  
The Dryads, Satyrs, Silver Gods, and Fawns,  
Had here their Rural Palaces and Lawns.   

Above all this, appeared the blessed abodes,  
And gay-Pavilions of th' Immortal Gods:  
Upon a Painted-Zodiack brightly shone  
With Glittering Emeralds Sols refulgent Throne:  
Here sat in Purple the Bright God of Day,  
(Whom Phaeton now trembles to survey:)  
Smooth were his Cheeks, most lovely eyes, his brows  
Adorned with rays, and his own sacred boughs:  
Around, the days, the months, and years attend,  
While, at his feet, the crooked Ages bend:  
The beauteous Spring (more gay than all the rest,)  
Stood smiling by, clad in a Flowery Vest:  
Summer, with Ears of Corn, her temples bound,  
And Autumn with Luxuriant Clusters crowned:  
In order next old hoary- Winter stood;  
His Aspect horrid, and congealed his blood.   

Surrounded thus with Majesty and State,  
Bold Phaeton's Illustrious Father sat:  
The God his venturous Offspring now espies;  
Amazed! demands, What urged his enterprise?  
And what great Embassy could bring him to the Skies?  
Monarch of Light, the doubtful Youth returns,  
Whose absence Life itself and Nature mourns:  
Most splendid Ruler of the welcome Day,  
Serenest Spring of all that's fair and gay—  
If bolder I may speak— if e'er— if e'er  
The Thoughts of Love and Clymene were dear;  
— Then grant a certain sign, that may on Earth  
Resolve the questioned grandeur of my Birth,   

My best-lov'd-Son, great Phoebus made Reply,  
(And back he casts the radiant Energy  
Of his thick beams) my Phaeton draw Nigh:  
And doubt no longer my Paternal rights;  
For, by my Clymene, by th' Intense delights  
That gave thee Birth, so— now choose a sign,  
And by the Dark Infernal Lake 'tis thine.   

Strait the ambitious youth demands the sway  
Of his hot Steeds, and Chariot of the Day.   

Amazed, the lucent Deity shook his head,  
Revolving his Tremendous Oath, and said;   

Unthinking Phaeton what dost thou ask?  
Not jove himself durst undertake the Task:  
Though not a God in the Blew-Arch more great,  
Yet even he'd decline our Flaming Seat.  
Canst thou, a Mortal, then supply my Throne?  
Curb my fierce Steeds, and pass the Intemperate Zone?  
So hard and difficult, the ascent of day  
Scarce with fresh Horses vanquish I the way:  
With horror, on the distant Earth at Noon,  
We from the Zenith's dismal height look down  
The steep Descent; from thence we swiftly roll:  
Nor here our headlong Coursers Brook control.  
Even Lovely Thetis sees my Fall with dread,  
Though every Night she expects me to her Bed.  
Besides, thou'lt meet a Thousand rugged Jars  
From the encountering Motions of the Stars;  
Scarce our Immortal Efforts stem their force:  
Betwixt the Bulls sharp horns than lies thy course,  
By Sagitarius, and the Scorpion's Claws,  
The Ghastly Crab, and Leo's dreadful Jaws.  
Expect no Groves, nor Flowery Mansions there,  
Nor Gods, nor Nymphs; but Monsters every where,  
Then let a Father's timely Care persuade,  
And yet retract the dangerous Choice thou'st made  
Be wise, and urge no more this fatal Sign;  
Alas, my Grief, too sadly, speaks thee Mine.  
Of all the Earth's, or Seas rich Bosoms hide,  
Or Treasures which in upper Air abide;  
Ask what thou wilt, or dar'st (besides) to wish;  
Do, Phaeton, ask any thing but this;  
And, by my former Sacred Oath, 'tis thine.   

But the hot Youth, fixed on his rash design,  
With such an Enterprise, the more inflamed  
His anxious Father's Oath, now boldly claimed,  
Who forced to yield. The nimble hours soon brought  
His Chariot forth in hot Vesuvio wrought,  
By crafty Vulcan, and the Cyclops Art,  
Who'd shown immortal skill in every part:  
The Wheels, and Axletree, the purest Gold,  
Bright as those Lucid Tracts in which they roul'd:  
The Harness all Embossed with Crysolites,  
And twinkling sparks of wondrous coloured Lights.   

But now Aurora from her Eastern Bed,  
Had, o'er the Expanse her Dewy Mantle spread,  
The Sickly Moon the Hemisphere resigns;  
And, with her Waning, Lucifer declines.  
The Dawning grew more fair and ruddy still,  
And Sol officious now against his will:  
With Sacred Compounds his fierce Orb allays,  
Then crowns the Joyful Hero with his Rays:  
With tender Speeches cautioned thus the while,  
Let not Presumption thy fond Thoughts beguile '  
To give my hot unruly Steeds their course,  
But use the Reins, with utmost care and force,  
Along a beaten, broad, and oblique way,  
Far from the Poles, now lies the Road of Day.  
Avoid the Altar, and the hissing Snake,  
Both opposite, betwixt them keep the Track;  
Observe a careful distance from the Skies,  
Lest thou assront the awful Deities;  
Nor near the Earth approach, the mean is best;  
To Destiny with hope I leave the rest.  
For, lo the pale Commandress of the Night  
Resigns her Empire to th' expected Light.  
Take up the Reins; or yet, or yet be wise,  
And graspa more proportioned enterprise:   

But Phaeton, as resolute as great,  
Undaunted, leaps into the Blazing Seat;  
Pleased with his glorious charge, nor doubts his Skill  
To manage it, he Mounts th' Olympic Hill.  
Aloud th' Immortal Steeds begin to Neigh,  
And strike their Fiery Hoofs, and make new Day;  
As through she clouds they cut their sparkling way:  
And finding now the Reeling Chariot fraught  
With nothing congruous to Celestial weight;  
Unruly grow, and heedless of the Rein,  
It's feeble Checks, and trembling Guide disdain;  
And, all disordered, careless of their way,  
Through Paths unknown to Sol himself, they stray:  
Now near the Fair Triones, who, in vain,  
Implored more Temperate Quarters in the Main  
With Heat revived, see the fierce Serpent roll,  
Tho' fixed his Station near the Frozen Pole.  
Boötes sweats, and drives his Lazy Team  
A nimble pace; untried before by them,  
As much distressed, unhappy Phaeton  
From Great Olympus arched Top looks down:  
Black horror now, and aggravating fear,  
Through all his Conscious thoughts triumphant were:  
He Cursed his Pride, conspicuous Seat, and Birth,  
And covets the obscurest place on Earth;  
To be the Son of Meropes, safe below,  
Unknown to Gods and Men, would please him now;  
So, all confused, the hopeless Pilot Raves,  
And yields, at last, to the relentless Waves.  
What can he do? much of the Glowing East  
Is yet Unconquered; more he dreads the West,  
That dangerous Fall; nor one clear Track can fined  
In Heaven; nor call his Horse's Names to mind:  
Who now near where the dreadful Scorpion lay,  
Hurryd the shattered Chariot of the Day:  
Proud of the Reins, which from his trembling hands  
Now faintly drop, no obstacle withstands  
Their furious course; but through the blazing Sky  
They foam, and rave, and all disordered fly.  
Now upward, to the Stars, a Path they rend,  
Then down again the frightful Steeps descend:  
Below, her own Diana from afar,  
With wonder, views her radiant Brother's Car:  
The exhaled Earth down to its Centre dry,  
Wants juice, her fainting Products to supply:  
Assaulted with the too prevailing rays,  
In fatal Flames, whole Towns and Mountains blaze:  
High Athos, Oete, and the Pin'y top  
Of pleasant Ida into Cinders drop:  
Old Tmolus, the Sicilian Mount, and high  
Parnassus, smoke up to the darkened Sky:  
Vesuvio roars, more fierce its entrails glow;  
Nor work the Cyclops at their Anvils now.  
Steep Othrys, Cynthus, Erix, Mimas, flame  
Nor Rhodopean Snows the fiercer Fire can tame.   

Cavoasus fries, Dindyma chaps, and burns  
Her kindling Grove; fair Aphrodites mourns.  
The Airy Alps, and Gloomy Apennine,  
With Ossa, in the conflagration shine:  
Surrounded thus with Smoke, and Wrathful Fires,  
Unhappy Phaeton almost expires:  
Despair within, and Terror all without,  
By's surious Steeds, at pleasure, hurled about;  
Gasping, and saint, still hurried round, nor more,  
Tho propped by Fate, a Mortal could have boar:  
They say, the Ethiopians now with heat  
Adust, and scorched, diffused a Sable Sweat;  
And all the wasted Fountains sadly ring  
Of some fair Nais, Mourning for her Spring.  
Nor from the Mightyer Streams the Flame recoils,  
For in its Channel ancient Tana'is boils.  
Xanthus', whose Waves again that Fate must know;  
Maeander, whose wild Waters, circling flow.   

Melas, Eurotas, Ister, and the Fair  
Euphrates, Torrents, half exhausted are.  
Orontes, Phasis, and the cooler Stream  
Of Sperchius' now like boiling Chaldron's Steam;  
Alpheus, Ganges, and the flowing Gold,  
That in the Rich Pactolus' Channel roul'd:  
The Muses Mourn; their Swans, who, as they die  
In Charming Notes, breath their own Elegy:  
Deep, in his utmost Subterranean Bed,  
Great Nilus hides his undiscovered Head.  
Earth cracks, to Hell descend the hated beams,  
And Plague the howling Ghosts with worse extremes:  
The exhausted Ocean leaves a Field of Sand;  
Nor does vexed Neptune one cool Wave command.  
He has lost his share of the grand Monarchy,  
And vainly lifts his forked Trident high.  
The Lovely Sisters melt upon the Rocks,  
While Aged Doris tares her Silver Locks:  
The Phocoe die; the Dolphins vainly dive  
In scalding streams, to keep themselves alive.  
As much the Goddess of the Earth distressed,  
With trembling Lips the King of Gods addressed;   

If thou the Groaning World's Destruction mean,  
(Incensed jove) Why sleep thy THUNDERS then?  
If thou the cause of this Calamity;  
Or if 'tis some less potent God than thee:  
where's all thy goodness, all thy gentle care  
For Mortals now-that should these Ills repair?  
Have I for this thy Sacred Victims fed  
In Hecatombs, to thy high Altars led?  
Those Altars, which with thy bright Temples smoke,  
While jove, in vain, the gasping- Priests Invoke:  
And lo the Mighty Poles begin to fume;  
And, where's thy Starry Seat should they consume?  
Tired Atlas sweeting, of his load complains,  
And scarce the burning Axletree sustains:  
But, fainting here, she stopped, and shrinks her head  
Below the gloomy Lodgings of the Dead.  
jove calls the Gods (with him, whose daring Son,  
Too fond of Glory, had this Mischief done:)  
To view the dreadful flames; then mounts on high,  
The lostyest Turret that commands the Sky;  
From whence he used to shade the sultry Air,  
And with kind Showers the Parched Earth to cheer:  
But throws his Floodgates open now in vain,  
And pressed the light transparent clouds for Rain:  
At which incensed, his ruddy Thunder glows,  
Nor durst the God of beams himself oppose.  
See the winged Vengeance now, see where it breaks,  
On the rash cause of those lamented Wrecks;  
And sends the bold Usurper breathless down  
To the scorched Earth from his affected Throne:   

So strike the gallic Tyrant, that has hurled  
As guilty flames through the complaining World.  
So awful jove, so Strike him from his Seat,  
And all his Aims, and all his Hope's defeat.    

THE WISH, IN A POEM TO THE ATHENIANS.  
Would some kind Vision represent to me  
How bright thy Streets, Celestial Salem! be;  
I'd trace thy shining pearly Faths, and tell  
How blessed are those that in thy Temple dwell:  
How much more bright than e'er proud Phoebus' shed  
Are those vast Rays the Eternal Sun does spread!  
Could I the chiefest of ten thousands view,  
Would Angels me their Admiration show,  
I'd tell the Virgins, tell 'em o'reagen  
How fair he looked to the black Sons of men:  
Might I, but ah, while clogged with sinful Flesh,  
In vain I breathe out the impatient Wish!  
But have a glimpse of those fair Fields of Bliss,  
Where dressed in Beams, the shining Saints do move  
More gay than all the fancied shades of Love:  
Where still from pure exhaustless fountains, to  
Bright Silver streams the Crystal Waters flow;  
Where the true Son of Glory ne'er declines,  
But with unclouded Vigour always shines.  
Where endless Smiles celestial Faces wear,  
No Eye eclipsed with a rebellious Tear,  
For Grief is an unheard of Stranger there.  
Say then, if ought of that blessed place you know,  
Describe its Bliss, its dazzling Glories show!   

The Athenians Answer.  

AH! Bright Unknown! you know not what you ask!  
Angel's would bend beneath the unequal Task.  
Were that blessed World disclosed, 'twould seem so fair,  
Who would not leap Life's Barriers to be there?  
Yet see a Glimpse, all, Heaven permits to see,  
And learn the rest from Faith and Ecstasy.   

The Paradise of God, those happy seats which cost  
Far more than that fair Eden we have lost;  
Exceeds luxuriant Fancies richest dress,  
And Beggar's Rhyme and Numbers self t' express.  
— No, were we lost in that primaeval Grove  
Where Father Adam with his Newborn Bride  
Walked careless, walked and loved, nor Want, nor Sin,  
Nor jealous Rage, nor cursed tormenting Hopes  
Their Sacred Verge approaching could we pierce  
As the blind Bard, with intellectual sight  
Through those first happy Mortals Sylvan shade,  
Thro'clust'ring Vines whose swelling Purple Grapes  
With generous Juice invited the blessed Pair  
To taste, nor fear to die; were all the Springs  
That from some easy Mountains mossy side  
Or hoary Rock ran gently murmuring,  
A thousand Flours upon the bending Banks,  
A thousand Birds upon the fragrant Trees,  
And Eve herself all smiling joined the Choir,  
With blissful Hymns of chaste and holy Love  
Were these and more united to compose  
A Poet's Heaven to the true Heaven 'twould be  
A Barren Wilderness, nay worse, a World.  
— Not Reason's self, a Ray of the divine  
Offspring, and Friend of God, when manacled  
In sinful mortal mould, altho' it trace,  
No Sister Truth through each Dedalean maze,  
And builds on Sense with well poised Argument,  
Not that can tell us what we there shall see,  
Or have or know, or do, or ever be.  
Nay tho' with nobler Faiths more perfect Glass,  
We look beyond the Crystal starry Worlds,  
We know but part, sunk in our darksome selves,  
And from Life's dungeon wish the glimmering Light,  
Coasters of Heaven we beat along the shore,  
Some Creeks and Landmarks found, but know no more.  
The Inland Country's undiscover d still,  
The glorious City of th' eternal King,  
Yet of celestial Growth we bear away,  
Some rich immortal Fruit, Joy, Peace and Love,  
Knowledge and Praise, Vision and pure Delight,  
Rivers of Bliss, ay-dwelling from the Throne  
Of the most high, exhaustless Fund of Light.  
There, there is Heaven, 'tis he who makes it so,  
The Soul can hold no more, for God is all,  
He only equals its capacious Grasp,  
He only o'er fills to spaces infinite,  
Ah! who can follow?— That shall only those  
Who with intrepid Breasts the World oppose.  
Tear out the glittering Snake, tho' ne'er so close it twine,  
And part with mortal joys for joys Divine.    

To one that persuades me to leave the Muses.  

FOrgo the charming Muses! No, in spite  
Of your ill-natured Prophecy I'll write,  
And for the future paint my thoughts at large,  
I waste no paper at the Hunderds' charge:  
I rob no Neighbouring Geese of Quills, nor slink  
For a collection to the Church for ink:  
Besides my Muse is the most gentle thing  
That ever yet made an attempt to sing:  
I call no Lady Punk, nor Gallants Fops,  
Nor set the married world an edge for Ropes;  
Yet I'm so seurvily inclined to Rhyming,  
That undesigned my thoughts burst out a chiming;  
My active Genius will by no means sleep,  
And let it then its proper channel keep.  
I've told you, and you may believe me too,  
That I must this, or greater mischief do;  
And let the world think me inspired, or mad,  
I'll surely write whilst paper's to be had;  
Since Heaven to me has a Retreat assigned,  
That would inspire a less harmonious mind.  
All that a Poet loves I have in view,  
Delight some Hills, refreshing Shades, and pleasant Valleys too,  
Fair spreading Valleys clothed with lasting green,  
And Sunny Banks with gilded streams between,  
Gay as Elysium, in a Lover's Dream,  
Or Flora's Mansion, seated by a stream,  
Where free from sullen cares I live at case,  
Indulge my Muse, and wishes, as I please,  
Exempt from all that looks like want or strife,  
I smoothly glide along the Plains of Life,  
Thus Fate conspires, and what can I do to ' t?  
Besides, I'm vehemently in love to boot,  
And that there's not a Willow Sprig but knows,  
In whose sad shade I breathe my direful woes.  
But why for these dull Reasons do I pause,  
When I've at hand my genuine one, because!   

And that my Muse may take no counter Spell,  
I fairly bid the Boarding Schools farewel:  
No Young Impertinent, shall here intrude,  
And vex me from this blissful solitude.  
Spite of her heart, Old Puss shall damn no more  
Great Sedley's Plays, and never look 'em o'er;  
Affront my Navels, no, nor in a Rage,  
Force Drydens lofty Products from the Stage,  
Whilst all the rest of the melodious crew,  
With the whole System of Athenians too,  
For Study's sake out of the Window flew.  
But I'to Church, shall fill her Train no more,  
And walk as if I sojurned by the hour.   

To Stepwel and his Kit I bid adieu,  
Fall off, and on, be hanged and Coopee too  
Thyself for me, my dancing days are o'er;  
I'll act th'inspired Bachannels no more.  
Eight Notes must for another Treble look,  
In Burlesque to make Faces by the book.  
japan, and my esteemed Pencil too,  
And pretty Cupid, in the Glass adieu,  
And since the dearest friends that be must part,  
Old Governess farewell with all my heart.  
Now welcome all ye peaceful Shades and Springs,  
And welcome all the inspiring tender things;  
That please my genius, suit my make and years,  
Unburdened yet with all but lovers cares.    

A POEM  
Occasioned by the report of the Queen's Death.  
When fame had blown among the Western swains,  
The saddest news that ever reached their Plains,  
Like Thunder in my ears the sound did break;  
The kill accents which I dare not speak.  
Lesle was I touched with that pernicious Dart,  
That pierced through mine to reach my Daphne's Heart,  
From off my Head the Florid wreath I tore,  
That I, to please the fond Orestes, wore;  
And quite o'er charged with Grief upon the ground,  
I sunk my Brows, with mournful Cypress Crowned;  
My trembling Hand sustained my drooping Head,  
And at my feet my Lyre and Songs were laid;  
'Twas in a gloomy Shade, where o'er and o'er  
I'd mourned my Loved Companions loss before;  
But now I vainly strove my Thoughts t'expose,  
In Numbers kind, and sensible as those  
For, ah! the Potent ills that filled my Breast,  
Were much to vast and black to be expressed   

Pharaphrase on John 21. 17.  
YEs, thou that knowest all, dost know I love thee,  
And that I set no Idol up above thee,  
To thy unerring censure I appael,  
And thou that knowest all things, sure canst tell,  
I Love thee more than Life or Interest,  
Nor hast thou any Rival in my Breast;  
I Love thee so, that I would calmly bear;  
The Mocks of Fools, and bless my happy Ear  
Let me from thee but one kind whisper hear;  
I Love thee so, that for a smile of thine,  
Might this, and all the brighter Worlds be mine,  
I would not pause, but with a noble Scorn,  
At the unequal slighted offer spurn;  
Yes, I to Fools these trifles can resign,  
Nor envy them the World, whilst thou art mine;  
I love thee as my Centre, and can find  
No Point but thee to stay my doubtful mind;  
Potent and uncontrolled its Motions were,  
Till fixed in thee it's only congruous Sphere.  
Urged with a thousand specious Baits, I stood,  
Displeased, and sighing for some distant good,  
To calm its genuine Dictates— but betwixt  
Them all, remained suspended and unfixt.  
I love thee so, 'tis more than Death to be,  
My Life, my Love, my all, deprived of thee;  
'Tis Hell, 'tis Horror, shades and darkness then,  
Till thou unveil'st thy Heavenly Face again;  
I Love thee so, I'd kiss the Dart should free  
My flatterring Soul, and send her up to thee;  
O wouldst thou break her Chain, with what delight  
She'd spread her Wings, and bid the world good-night.  
Scarce for my bright conductors would I stay,  
But lead thy flaming Ministers the way,  
In their known passage to eternal day.  
And yet the Climes of Light would not seem fair,  
Unless I met my bright Redeemer there;  
Unless I saw my Shining Saviour's Face,  
And coped all Heaven in his sweet embrace.   

Paraphrase on Cant. 5. 6. etc.  
OH! How his Pointed Language, like a Dart,  
Sticks to the softest Fibres of my Heart,  
Quite through my Soul the charming Accents slide,  
That from his Life inspiring Portals glide;  
And whilst I the enchanting sound admire,  
My melting Vitals in a Trance expire.  
Oh Son of Venus, Mourn thy baffled Arts,  
For I defy the proudest of thy Darts:  
Undazled now, I thy weak Taper View,  
And find no fatal influence accrue;  
Nor would fond Child thy feebler Lamp appear,  
Should my bright Sun deign to approach more near;  
Canst thou his Rival then pretend to prove?  
Thou a false Idol, he the God of Love;  
Lovely beyond Conception, he is all  
Reason, or Fancy amiable call,  
All that the most exerted thoughts can reach,  
When sublimated to its utmost stretch.  
Oh! altogether Charming, why in thee  
Do the vain World no Form or Beauty see?  
Why do they Idolise a dusty clod,  
And yet refuse their Homage to a God?  
Why from a beauteous flowing Fountain turn,  
For the Dead Puddle of a narrow Urn?  
Oh Carnal Madness! sure we falsely call  
So dull a thing as man is, rational;  
Alas, my shining Love, what can there be  
On Earth so splendid to out-glitter thee?  
In whom the brightness of a Godhead Shines,  
With all its lovely and endearing Lines;  
Thee with whose light Mortality once blest,  
Would throw off its dark Veil to be possessed;  
Then altogether Lovely, why in thee  
Do the vain World no Form or Beauty see.   

A Pindaric, to the Athenian Society.  

I.  
I'VE touched each string, each muse I have invoked,  
Yet still the mighty theme,  
Copes my unequal praise;  
Perhaps, the God of Numbers is provoked.  
I grasp a Subject fit for none but him,  
Or Drydens' sweeter lays;  
Dryden! A name I ne'er could yet rehearse,  
But strait my thoughts were all transformed to verse.   

II.  
And now methinks I rise;  
But still the lofty Subject baulks my slight,  
And still my muse despairs to do great Athens right;  
Yet takes the Zealous Tribute which I bring,  
The early products of a Female muse;  
Until the God, into my breast shall mightier thoughts infuse.  
When I with more Command, and prouder voice shall sing;  
But how shall I describe the matchless men?  
I'm lost in the bright labyrinth again.   

III.  
When the lewd age, as ignorant as accursed,  
Arrived in vice and error to the worst,  
And like Astrea banished from the stage,  
Virtue and Truth were ready stretched for slight;  
Their numerous foes,  
Scarce one of either's Champions ventured to oppose;  
Scarce one brave mind, durst openly engage,  
To do them right.  
Till prompted with a generous rage;  
You coped with all th' abuses of the age;  
Unmasked and challenged its abhorred crimes,  
Nor feared to dash the darling vices of the times.   

IV.  
Successfully go on,  
T' inform and bless mankind as you've begun,  
Till like yourselves they see;  
The frantic world's imagined Joys to be,  
Unmanly, sensual and effeminate,  
Till they with such exalted thoughts possessed;  
As you've inspired into my willing Breast,  
Are charmed, like me, from the impending fate.   

V.  
For ah! Forgive me Heaven, I blush to say't,  
I with the vulgar world thought Irreligion great,  
Tho fine my breeding, and my Notions high;  
Tho trained in the bright tracts of strictest piety,  
I like my splendid tempters soon grew vain,  
And laid my slighted innocence a side;  
Yet oft my nobler thoughts I have belied,  
And to be ill was even reduced to feign.   

VI  
Until by you,  
With more Heroic sentiments inspired,  
I turned and stood the vigorous torrent too,  
And at my former weak retreat admired;  
So much was I by your example fired,  
So much the heavenly form did win:  
Which to my eyes you'd painted virtue in.   

VII.  
Oh, could my verse;  
With equal flights, to after times rehearse,  
Your fame: It should as bright and Deathless be;  
As that immortal flame you've raised in me.  
A flame which time:  
And Death itself, wants power to control,  
Not more sublime,  
Is the divine composure of my Soul;  
A friendship so exalted and immense,  
A female breast did ne'er before commence.    

Paraphrase on Revel. chap. 1. from v. 13. to v. 18.  

I.  
WHo could, and yet outlive the Amasing sight!  
Oh, who could stand the stress of so much Light!  
Amidst the Golden Lamps the Vision stood,  
Formed like a Man, with all the awe and lustre of a God.   

II.  
A Kingly Vestre clothed him to the ground,  
And Radiant Gold his sacred breasts surround;  
But all too thin the Deity to shroud;  
For heavenly Rays expressly shone through the unable Cloud   

III.  
His head, his awful head was graced with hair,  
As soft as snow, as melted silver fair;  
And from his eyes such active Glories flow.  
The conscious Seraphs well may veil their dimmer faces too.   

IV.  
His Feet were strong and dreadful, as his Port  
Worthy the Godlike Form they did support;  
His Voice resembled the Majestic Fall  
Of mighty Waves: 'Twas awful, great, divine, and solemn all.   

V.  
His powerful hand a Starry Sceptre held,  
His mouth a threatening two-edged sword did wield,  
His face so wondrous, so divinely fair,  
As all the glorious Lights above had been contracted there.   

VI  
And now my fainting spirits strove in vain  
The uncorrected splendour to sustain,  
Unable longer such bright Rays to meet,  
I died beneath the Ponderous Load, at the great  
Vision's Feet.   

VII.  
Till he that doth the springs of Life contain,  
Breathed back my soul, and bid me live again;  
And thus began (but Oh with such an Air,  
That nothing but a power divine had made me live to hear.)   

VIII.  
From an unviewable Eternity  
I was, I am, and must For ever be:  
I have been dead, but live for ever now.  
Amen— And have in Triumph led the Kings of Darkness too.    

To a very Young Gentleman at a Dancing-School.  

I.  
SO when the Queen of Love rose from the Seas,  
Divinely Fair in such a blessed amaze,  
Th' enamoured watery Deities did gaze.   

II.  
As we when charming Flammin did suprize,  
More heavenly bright our whole Seraglios Eyes;  
And not a Nymph her Wonder could disguise.   

III.  
Whilst with a graceful Pride the lovely boy  
Passed all the Ladies (like a Sultan) by,  
Only he looked more absolute and coy.   

IV.  
When with an Haughty air he did advance,  
To lead out some transported she to dance,  
He gave his hand as carelessly as Chance.   

V.  
Attended with a Universal sigh,  
On her each Beauty cast a Jealous Eye,  
And quite fall out with guiltless Destiny.    

To the same Gentleman.  
AH lay this cruel Artifice aside,  
This barbarous distance, and affected Pride;  
Or else resign my heart, which is too great  
For you in this imperious way to treat.  
I know you're gay and charming as the Spring,  
And that I ne'er beheld a lovelier thing,  
But know as well the influence of my Eyes,  
Nor can you think my heart a vulgar prize.   

A PASTORAL.  Daphne. 
WHy sigh you so, What Grievance can annoy,  
A Nymph like you? Alas, why sighs my Joy?  
My Philomela, why dost bend thy Head,  
Hast lost thy Pipe, or is thy Garland dead?  
Thy flocks are fruitful, flowery all thy Plain;  
Thy Father's Darling, why shouldst thou complain?  Philomela. 
Unfriendly thus, when I expect Relief,  
To mock the weightier causes of my grief.  Daphne. 
Thou dost abuse my Love: How should I guests  
The unknown Reason of thy Tears, unless  
Thy Birds are fled, or else the Winds have blown,  
This stormy Night, your tallest Cypress down?  
Thy Shepherd's true, or I had named him first.  Philomela. 
Ah! were he so, I would contemn the rest.  Daphne. 
Why dost thou fear it? Not a truer Swain  
e'er drove his Sheep to this frequented Plain.  Philomela. 
Like thee in Ignorance, how blessed were I?  
But Nymph, a falser thing did never sigh:  
Curse on his Charms; accursed the unlucky day,  
He sought by chance his wandered flocks this way;  
When gay and careless, leaning on my Crook,  
My roving Eyes this fatal Captive took,  
Well I remember yet with what a grace  
The Youthful Conqueror made his first address;  
How moving, how resistless were his sighs;  
How soft his Tongue, how very soft his Eyes.  
When spite of all my Natural Disdain,  
I fell a Victim to the smiling Swain!  
Ah, how much blessed, how happy had I been,  
Had I his lovely kill Eyes ne'er seen!  
In these delightsome Pastures long I kept  
My harmless flocks, and as much pleasure reaped,  
In being all I hoped to be, as they,  
Whose awful Nods subjected Nations sway.  
The Shepherds made it all their care to gain  
My heart, which knew no passion but disdain,  
Till this Young Swain, the Pride of all our Grove,  
Into my soul infused the bane of Love.   

TO CELINDA.  

I.  
I Can't, Celinda, say, I love,  
But rather I adore,  
When with transported eyes I view,  
Your shining merits o'er.   

II.  
A fame so spotless and serene.  
A virtue so refined;  
And thoughts as great, as e'er was yet  
Grasped by a female mind.   

III.  
There love and honour dressed, in all,  
Their genuine charms appear,  
And with a pleasing force at once  
They conquer and endear.   

IV.  
Celestial flames are scarce more bright,  
Than those your worth inspires,  
So Angels love and so they burn  
In just such holy fires.   

V.  
Then let's my dear Celinda thus  
Blest in ourselves contemn  
The treacherous and deluding Arts,  
Of those base things called men.    

Thoughts on Death.  

I.  
I'm almost to the fatal period. come,  
My forward Glass has well nigh run its last;  
ere a few moments, I shall hear that doom  
Which ne'er will be recalled, when once 'tis past.   

II.  
Methinks I have Eternity in view,  
And dread to reach the edges of the shore,  
Nor doth the prospect, the less dismal show,  
For all the thousands that have launched before.   

III.  
Why weep my friends, what is their loss to mine,  
I have but one poor doubtful stake to throw,  
And with a dying prayer my hopes resign,  
If that be lost, I'm lost for ever too.   

IV.  
'Tis not the painful agonies of Death,  
Nor all the gloomy horrors of the Grave;  
Were that the worst, unmoved I'd yield my breath  
And with a smile the King of Terrors brave.   

V.  
But there's an after day, 'tis that I fear:  
Oh, who shall hide me from that angry brow;  
Already I the dreadful accents hear,  
Depart from me, and that for ever too.    

THE Female Passion,  

I.  
A Thousand great resolves, as great  
As reason could inspire,  
I have commenced; but ah how soon  
The daring thoughts expire!   

II.  
Honour and Pride I've often roused,  
And bid 'em bravely stand,  
But e'er my charming foe appears  
They cowardly disband.   

III.  
One dart from his insulting eyes,  
Eyes I'm undone to meet,  
Throws all my boasting faculties  
At the loved Tyrant's feet.   

IV.  
In vain alas, 'tis all in vain,  
To struggle with my fate,  
I'm sure I ne'er shall cease to love,  
How much less can I hate!   

V.  
Against relentless destiny,  
Hopeless to overcome,  
Not Sisyphus more sadly strives  
With his Eternal Doom.    

TO STREPHON.  
TO me his sighs, to me are all his vows,  
But there's my hell the depth of all my woes,  
We burn alike, but oh the distant bliss,  
A view of that my greatest torment is;  
Accursed ambition, grovelling interest,  
Such heated crimes as yet did never rest  
Within my Soul, must now unjustly keep  
Me from my Heaven would they may sink as deep,  
As that black Chaos whence they sprung, and leave  
Those mortals wretched which they now deceive.   

Paraphrase on Malachy 3. 14.  
IN vain ye Murmur, we have served the Lord,  
As vainly listened to his flattering word,  
He has forgot, or spoke not as he meant;  
Else why are we thus Idly penitent?  
Ye call the haughty blessed, erecting those  
That dare my Judgements impiously oppose,  
And own, nay, almost boast themselves my foes,  
Whose crimes would (were I not a God) command  
The scarlet bolts from my unwilling hand;  
Then they that feared my great and awful name,  
The only sew that dared oppose the stream,  
Unmoved against the vulgar torrent stood,  
In spite of numbers resolutely good,  
Not taxing with undecent insolence  
The dark Enigmas of my providence.  
But saw me still illustrious through the same,  
And loved and spoke, spoke often of my name,  
As oft I closely listened, nor shall they  
Pass unrewarded at the last great day,  
When all their pious services I'll own,  
For in my records I shall find 'em down,  
Their brows I'll Crown with wreaths of victory;  
Whilst Mon and Angels stand spectators by;  
A loud I'll then, aloud proclaim them mine,  
And amongst my brightest treasures they shall shine  
Their frailty with more tenderness, than e'er  
A father did his only son's I'll spare,  
And then, but ah! too late you'll find it then,  
Who were the wise, the only thinking men;  
Then you shall nothing but derision meet,  
Whilst Angels them with loud applauses greet.   

On Mrs. Rebecka.  

I.  
SO brightly Sweet Florina's eyes,  
Their rising beams display,  
That as the scorched Indians, we  
Even dread the coming day.   

II.  
For if her morning rays with such  
Unusual vigour streams,  
How must the unhappy world be scorched,  
With her meridian beams?   

III.  
If now she Innocently kills  
With an an-aiming dart,  
Who shall resist her when, with skill,  
She levels at a heart?   

IV.  
If with each smile the pretty Nymph,  
Now captivates the sense,  
What when her glories at the height  
Will be their influence?    

By Dispair.  
WHen the intruding horrors of the night,  
Had just deprived our hemisphere of light  
And sable foldings seemed to imitate,  
The blackness and confusion of my fate,  
As by a River's side I walked along,  
Uncurled and loose my artless tresses hung.  
Dispair and love were seated in my face,  
And down I sunk, upon the bending grass,  
There to the streams, my mournful griefs relate,  
Cursing the spiteful Stars that ruled my fate;  
To see my tears the gentle floods swell high,  
The Rocks relent, and groan as oft as I,  
The winds less deaf, than my ungreatful Swain,  
Listen and breath o'er all my sighs again,  
Ah, never, never, said I with an Air;  
That poor complacent echo, grieved to hear,  
And softly fearing to increase my pain,  
No, never, never, she replied again,  
Then all things else, as trifles I despise,  
Said I, and smiling closed my wretched eyes.   

TO ORESTES.  
TO vex thy Soul with these unjust alarms,  
Fie dear mistrustful, canst thou doubt thy charms;  
Or think a breast so young and soft as mine,  
Could e'er resist such charming eyes as thine?  
Not love thee! witness all ye powers above,  
(That know my heart) to what excess I love,  
How many tender sighs for thee I've spent,  
I who ne'er knew what serious passion meant.  
Till to revenge his slighted Votaries,  
The God of love, couched in thy beauteous eyes,  
At once inspired and fixed my roving heart,  
Which till that moment sconred his proudest dart,  
And now I languish out my life for thee,  
As others unregarded do for me;  
Silent as night, and pensive as a dove,  
Through shades more gloomy than my thoughts I rove,  
With downcast eyes as languishing an Air,  
The Emblem I of Love, and of Dispair.   

The Athenians Answer, to the Foregoing Poem.  
WHat Charms to two such Feuds would equal  
prove?  
You are possessed with Poetry and Love.  
Fruitless experiments no more we'll try;  
Lost to advice, Rhyme on, Love on, and die!   

Paraphrase on Canticles, 7. 11.  

I  
COme thou most charming object of my love,  
What's all this dull Society to us,  
Let's to the peaceful Shades and Springs remove,  
I'm here uneasy though I linger thus.   

II.  
What are the trifles that I leave behind,  
I've more than all the valued world in thee,  
Where all my Joys and Wishes are confined,  
thou'rt Day and Life and Heaven itself to me.   

III.  
Come my beloved than let us away,  
To those blessed Seats where we'll our flames improve,  
With how much heat shall I caress thee there,  
And in sweet transports give up all my love.    

Paraphrase on Micha. 6. 6, 7.  

I.  
WHerewith shall I approach this awful Lord,  
What shall I bring,  
What sacrifice  
Will not so great a deity despise;  
Tell me you lofty spirits that fall down,  
The nearest to his throne,  
Oh tell me how,  
Or wherewithal shall I before my own, and your dread maker bow.  
Will Carmels verdant top afford,  
No equal offering,  
Ten thousand rams, a bounteous offering 'tis,  
When all the flocks upon a thousand spacious hills are his,  
Will Streams of fragrant oil his wrath control;  
Or the more precious flood,  
Of my first born's blood,  
Compound for all my debts and make a full Atonement for my Soul.   

II.  
If not great God what then dost thou require,  
Or what wilt thou deign to accept from me,  
All, that my own thou giv'st me leave to call,  
I willingly again resign to thee.  
My youth and all its blooming heat,  
My muse and every raptured thought, to thee I dedicate,  
('Tis fit the islues of that sacred fire,  
Should to its own celestial orb retire)  
And all my darling vanities,  
For thee I'll sacrifice,  
My favourite lust and all,  
Among the rest promiscuously shall fall;  
No more that fond beloved sin I'll spare,  
Than the great Patriarch would have done his heir,  
And this great God although a worthless prize,  
Is a sincere, entire, and early sacrifice.    

The Reflection.  
WHere gild my thoughts, rash inclinations stay,  
And let me think what 'tis you fool away,  
Stay ere it be to late, yet stay and take,  
A short review of the great prize at stake.  
Oh! stupid folly 'tis eternal Joy,  
That I'm about to barter for a toy;  
It is my God oh dreadful hazard where,  
Shall I again the boundless loss repair!  
It is my Soul a Soul that cost the blood,  
And painful agonies of an humbled God,  
Oh blessed occasion made me stay to think,  
Ere I was hurried off the dangerous brink,  
Should I have took the charming venom in,  
And coped with all these terrors for a sin,  
How equal had my condemnation been?   

A SONG.  
HE's gone the bright way that his honour directs him,  
Oh all ye kind powers let me beg you protect him.  
He's gone my Dear— and left me here mourning;  
But hang these dull thoughts, I'll fancy him returning.  
Returning, I'll think the great Hero Victorious,  
With joy to my Arms as faithful as Glorious.  
Against his bright Eyes, I am sure there's no standing;  
He looks like a God, and moves as Commanding.  
With a Face so Angelic the Foe will be charmed  
The Conquest were his though he met'em disarmed.  
They could not (be sure) of a rational nature,  
That would not relent at so moving a feature.  
Venus' disguised he'el be thought by his Beauty;  
And spared from the sense of a generous Duty.  
Yet when I reflect on the Wounded and Dying,  
In spite of my Courage it sets me a sighing.  
But the resolute brave no danger can stay him,  
Tho' I used all my Charms and Arts to delay him.  
Yet oh ye kind powers you are bound to protect him,  
Since he's gone the bright way that Glory directs him.   

To Madam S— at the Court.  

I.  
COme prithee leave the Courts  
And range the Fields with me;  
A thousand pretty Rural sports  
I'll here invent for thee.   

II.  
Involved in blissful innocence  
we'll spend the shining day,  
Untouched with that mean influence  
The duller world obey.   

III.  
About the flowery Plains we'll rove,  
As gay and unconsined:  
As are inspired by thee and love  
The saleys of my mind.   

IV.  
Now seated by a lovely Stream,  
Where beauteous Mermaids haunt;  
My Song while William is my Theme,  
Shall them and thee inchant.   

V.  
Then in some gentle soft retreat;  
Secure as Venus' Groves,  
We'll all the charming things repeat,  
That introduuced our loves.   

VI  
I'll pluck fresh Garlands for thy brows,  
Sweet as a Zephirs breath.  
As fair and well designed as those  
The Elisyum Lovers wreath.   

VII.  
And like those happy Lovers we,  
As careless and as blest;  
Shall in each others converse be  
Of the whole world possessed.   

VIII.  
Then prithee Phillis leave the Courts,  
And range the Fields with me;  
Since I so many harmless sports  
Can here procure for thee.    

The Vision. To Theron.  
NOw gentle sleep my willing Eyes had closed,  
And this gay Scene the smiling God imposed;  
Methought I in a Myrtle shade was placed,  
My Tresses curled, my Brows with Laurel graced  
Fresh was the Air, serenely bright the Day,  
And all around looked ravishingly Gay,  
Active my Thoughts, my Lyre was in my hand,  
And once more Theron did my Voice command;  
Once more the charming Hero did inspire  
My daring Muse with an Heroic Fire;  
The smiling Cupids softly fluttered round,  
Till animated with the generous sound,  
Like fight Gods, each shook his Dart and frowned.  
The listening streams enchanted with my Song,  
Scarce drove their still preceding waves along;  
Whilst o'er and o'er complaisant echo bears,  
Through every cavern the immortal Airs;  
About my Lips th' impatient Zephirs hung,  
To snatch the tuneful Numbers from my Tongue;  
And the pleased Graces crowded round to hear their Darling Sung.  
The Queen of Beauty, and her Doves, stood by,  
When I, to please the Lovely Deity,  
Told her, what Looks, what Eyes, and Smiles he had,  
Not her own Charms more fatally betrayed:  
At every strain the wounded Goddess sighs,  
Strains, sweet and powerful, as her own fair Eyes.  
Then, smiling, towards her own bright Orb she flew,  
And, with her, all the Sanguine Visions drew.   

A Pastoral Elegy.  Philomela. 
SO, gentle Destinies, decide the strife;  
Ah! spare but hers, and take my hated Life.  Daphne. 
Cease, cease, dear Nymph, the Fates ordain not so.  Philomela. 
The more ungentle they; But wilt thou go?  Daphne. 
I must; and wish my Epilogue were done,  
That from this tiresome stage I may be gone.  Philomela. 
Ah me! ah me! this breaks my feeble heart:  
But findest thou no Reluctancy to part?  Daphne. 
Without the least Reluctance, all below,  
Save thee, dear Nymph, I willingly forego:  
My Swain, my Mates, my Flocks and Garland too.  
In those blessed shades, to which my soul must flee,  
More beauteous Nymphs, and kinder Shepherds be;  
Who ne'er reflect on what they left behind,  
Rapt with the Joys they in Elysium find.  
By Silver streams, through blissful shades they rove,  
Their Pleasures to Eternity improve.  
There all the Smiling Year is clothed with Green;  
No Autumn, but Eternal Spring is seen.  
There the winged Choir in Loud and Artful strains  
Transmit their Echoes to the happy Plains:  
And thither Strephon will my Soul pursue,  
When he, like me, has bid the World adieu.  
There, if her Innocence she still retain,  
My Philomela I shall clasp again;  
And there, when Death shall stop his Noble Race,  
With a more Godlike and Heroic Grace,  
Thou shalt behold the matchless Theron's Face.  
But now farewell, my latest Sands are run,  
And Charon waits impatient to be gone.  
Farewell, poor Earth; from thy unhappy shore  
None ever launched more joyfully before.  
Not Death's Grim Looks affright me, though so near;  
Alas! why should the Brave and Virtuous fear:  Philomela. 
She's gone, she's gone, my dear Companion's gone,  
And left me in this desert World alone;  
Unforeed, her Beauteous Soul has took its flight,  
Serene, and Glittering to Eternal Light.  
More blind than Love, or Chance, relentless Death,  
Why didst thou stop my charming Daphne's Breath?  
The best the bravest, and faithful Friend alive;  
Fate-cut my Thread, I'll not the loss survive.  
Alas! Why rises the unwelcome Sun?  
There's nothing worth our sight now Daphne's gone.  
Go smile on some blessed Clime, where thou'st not see  
A loss so vast, nor Wretch so cursed as me;  
Whom Grief hath wrapped in so condensed a shade,  
As thy intruding beams shall ne'er invade:  
For, What avails thy Light now Daphne's gone,  
And left me Weeping on the Shore alone?  
Yet could the Gentle Fair but see me mourn,  
From that Blessed Place she would perhaps return.  
But vain, alas! are my Complaints; she's gone,  
And left me in this desert World alone.  
For ah! deprived my dearer Life of thee,  
The World is all a Hermitage to me:  
No more together we shall sit or walk,  
No more of Pan, or of Elysium talk:  
No more, no more shall I the fleeting Day  
In kind Endearments softly pass away:  
No more the Noblest height of Friendship prove,  
Now Daphne's gone, I know not who to Love.  
Mourn all ye Groves and Streams, mourn every thing,  
You'll hear no more the pretty Siren Sing.  
Tune, Shepherds, tune your Pipes to Mournful strains;  
For we have lost the Glory of our Plains.  
Let every thing a sadder Look put on;  
For Daphne's dead, for the Loved Nymph is gone.   

Parthenea, an ELEGY.  
WIth Singing Angels hence she posts away,  
As Lovely now and excellent as they:  
For one short Moment Death's Grim Looks she bore,  
But ne'er shall see his Ghastly Visage more.  
Released from her dull Fetters; as the Light,  
Active, and Pure, Parthenia takes her flight;  
And finds, at last, the awful Secrecy,  
How Spirits act, and what they do, and be.  
But now she's swallowed in a flood of Light,  
And scarce endures the Splendour of the Sight:  
Dear Shade, whom Heaven did so soon remove  
From these Cold Regions to the Land of Love;  
To endless Pleasures, and Eternal day;  
How glittering now? How satisfied and gay  
Art thou? methinks I do but half lament  
The Lovely Saint from my Embraces rend:  
Nor can to those fair Mansions cast my eyes,  
To which she's 〈◊〉 and not recall my sighs.  
My grief so, 〈◊〉 were as unjust, as vain,  
If from that Bliss 'twould hurry her again:  
For tho' the Charming'st Friend on Earth I've lost,  
Yet she the while may the advantage boast:  
And should her pure unfettered Soul but deign  
A careless glance on these dark coasts again,  
'Twould Smile, as Conscious, where she left her Chain;  
And smile again at the surprising odds  
Of her late dwelling, and those bright abodes;  
Those bright abodes where now, securely blest,  
She Sings the Anthems of Eternal rest.   

The Reply to Mr.—  

NO: I'm unmoved: nor can thy charming Muse  
One tender Thought into my Breast Infuse.  
I am from all those sensual motions Free;  
And you, in vain, speak pretty things to Me:  
For through the Splendid Gallantries of Love,  
Untouched, and careless, now I wildly rove,  
From all th' Attacques of those proud Darts secure,  
Whose Trifling Force too Tamely you endure;  
Nor ought, on Earth's so delicate to move  
My Nicer Spirit, and exact my Love:  
Even Theron's Lovely and Inticeing Eyes,  
Tho' armed with flames, I can at last despise;  
With all the Genuine charms and Courtly Arts,  
By which your Treacherous Sex invade our Hearts:  
No more those little Things contract my breast  
By a Diviner Excellence possessed;  
And, should I yield again, it dear must cost  
My Victor ere he shall the Conquest Boast;  
For the Mad venom's quite expelled my Veins,  
And calmer Reason now Triumphant Reigns:   

No more the dearest object of my sight  
Can move a Soft Sensaetion of Delight;  
Or force my lingering Blood a swifter pace,  
Or Paint new Smiles and Blushes on my Face.  
I've rend the Charming Idol from my heart,  
And banished all from thence that took his part.  
No more the Smiling Beaux shall tempt me on  
To Gaze, and Sigh, and think myself undone;  
Whilst Love, like some Fierce Torrent unconfined,  
Breaks in, o'f-spreads, and swallows up my Mind;  
And with its black ungrateful streams control  
All the Diviner Rays within my Soul.  
No, No: I will, I will no more admire,  
And urge the Sparks of the now dormant Fire:  
Nor for a wild Fantastic Ecstasy,  
Change the Dear joys of this blessed Liberty;  
Free, as a wand'ring Zephir, through the Air,  
Methinks I range, and hate my former Sphere.  
I meet the Noblest Forms, yet scorn to pay  
A Fond Devotion to well-moulded Day:  
Nor would I even for my late splendid Chain  
Forgo this Charming Liberty again;  
Which with so sweet a Calmness fill my Breast  
As cannot be in Words, no not in thine Expressed.    

A Pastoral on the QVEEN.  (Phillis.) 
WHy (Philomela) sleep those cheerful Strains,  
With which so much you gratified the Plains?  
When every murmuring stream and pretty spring  
Of some soft Tale would stop to hear thee Sing  
In Notes, that all the Nymphs and Shepherds moved;  
And Theron too, had he been by, had Loved.  
But ah! unwellcome Alteration, now  
No pleasant Smile, or Wreath, adorns thy Brow:  
About the Plains thy Flocks neglected, stray;  
And thou, as careless and forlorn as they:  
In hollow Rocks, and Cypress Shades, alone,  
Dost Teach the Mournful Dove a sadder Moon.  
For, all I heard from thee, when listening by,  
Were broken Notes, of some sad Elegy:  
But such a great and unaffected Air  
Thy Solitary Lamentations were,  
I find, no selfish Grief, or Interest  
Could draw those Generous Murmurs from thy Breast.  
'Tis sure, the Public Loss thou dost condole;  
'Tis that which yet lies pressing on thy Soul.  (Philomela.) 
'Tis that indeed, our common loss and care,  
Which, in my Breast, claims this unvulgar share;  
Too sadly claims it: Oh! the Queen, the Queen  
Has left the World: but Heaven! How black a Scene  
Her Exit makes it?— Oh Illustrious Saint!  
(By Death, from our most warm Caresses rend;  
Could I but speak thy Worth: But that's a Theme  
Too mighty for my boldest Thoughts to Stem:  
Even my own Grief, I have no words to Paint,  
Nor find my Love an Elegant Complaint.  
My Lyre itself no more can give me ease,  
(Nor the strong Tumults of my Soul appease;  
No more can give my swelling Breast relief,)  
Then Fate reverse the Subject of my Grief:  
'Tis all in vain—  
Alas! the Royal Shepherdess is gone;  
And, with her, the Whole Sex's Glory flown.  
Oh! Could not all those Heavenly Virtues Save  
Divine Maria from th' Insatiate Grave?  
Nor here's, and our Dear Hero's Moving Tears?  
Nor all the poor Lamenting Nations Fears?  
No, no; they could not— She resigns Her Breath;  
The Charming QVEEN a Trophy falls to Death.   

A Farewell to LOVE.  
WEll, since in spite of all that Love can do,  
The dangerous steps of Honour thou'lt pursue,  
I'll just grow Wise and Philosophic too:  
I'll bid these tender silly things Farewell;  
And Love, with thy great Antidote, expel:  
I'll tread the same Ambitious Paths with thee,  
And Glory too shall be my Deity.  
And now I'll once release my Train of Fools,  
In Sheer good Nature to the Loving Souls;  
For Pity's-sake at last I'll set at rights  
The vain conceits of the presumptuous Wights:  
For tho' I shake off Therons' Chains, yet he  
Is all that e'er deserved a Smile from me.  
But he's unjust, and false; and I a part  
Would not accept, tho' of a MONARCH's heart.  
And therefore flattering hopes, and wishes too,  
With all Loves soft Concomitants, adieu:  
No more to its Imperious Yoke I'll bow;  
Pride and Resentment fortify me now.  
My Inclinations are reversed; nor can  
I but abhor the Slavery of Man,  
How e'er the empty Lords of Nature boast  
O'er me, their Fond Prerogative is lost:  
For, Uncontrolled, I thus resolve to rove,  
And hear no more of Hymen, or of Love:  
No more such Wild Fantastic things shall Charm:  
My Breast; nor these Serener Thoughts Alarm.  
No more for Farce; I'll make a Lover Creep,  
And look as Scurvy as if he had bit a Sheep.  
Nor with Dissembled Smiles indulge the Fops,  
In pure Revenge to their Audacious hopes;  
Tho' at my Feet a thousand Victims lay,  
I'd proudly spurn the Whining Slaves away.  
Deaf, as the Winds, or Theron, would I prove,  
And hear no more of Hymen, or of Love.  
Like bright Diana now I'll range the Woods,  
And haunt the silent Shades and silver Floods  
I'll find out the Remotest Paths I can,  
To shun th' Offensive, Hated Face of Man.  
Where I'll Indulge my Liberty and Bliss,  
And no Endimyon shall obtain a Kiss.  
Now, Cupid, Mourn; the enlargement of my fate  
Thou'st lost a Politician in thy State:  
I could have taught thee, hadst thou lost thy Arm●  
To fool the World with more delusive Ch●●●●  
I could have made thy Taper burn more bright,  
And wing thy Shafts with an unerring flight:  
'Twas I directed that successful dart,  
That found its way to the Great— 's heart:  
'Twas I that made the lovely Fl— n bow,  
A proud contemner of thy Laws, till now;  
I Sung thy Power, and Inspired the Swains,  
Or thou hadst been no Deity on the Plains,  
Yet think no more my freedom to surprise,  
Which nothing can control but Theron's eyes;  
And every flattering Smile, and every Grace,  
With all the Air of that Bewitching Face,  
My Pride and Resolutions may deface:  
For from those eyes for ever I'll remove,  
To shun the Sight of what I would not love:  
And then, though every Cyclops stretched his Art,  
To form the little angry God a dart,  
I'll yet defy his rage to touch my Heart:  
For though my years compel me to disdain,  
Of the false Charmer meanly to complain;  
'Tis yet some satisfaction to my Mind,  
I for his sake abandon all Mankind.  
My Prouder Muse, to love no more a slave,  
Shall Sing the Gust, the Fortunate and Brave,  
And twine her Promised Wreaths for Theron's Brow,  
The Hero, not the faithless Lover now.  
More Blooming Glories mayst thou still acquire,  
And urge my Breast with a more active fire.  
May New Successes wait upon thy Sword,  
And deathless Honour all thy Acts record.  
May all thou dost thy Character complete;  
And, like thyself, be loyal still and great:  
〈◊〉 in an equal Orb as free I move,  
And think no more of Hymen, or of Love.   
FINIS.   

ADVERTISEMENT  
THe Young Lady, who is the Author of this BOOK, Living at a Great Distance from London, 'twas Impossible She should see the Sheets as they came from the PRESS; and is therefore no ways Accountable for the Printer's Erratas.   


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The History of all Religions in the World, from the Creation down to this present time, in Two Parts the first containing their Theory, and the other relating their Practices, both written by W. Turner, M. A. and Vicar of Walberton in Sussex.  
A COLLECTION of the Funeral Orations pronounced by public Authority in Holland, upon the Death of the most serene and potent Princess Mary II. Queen of Great Britain, etc. By Dr. james Perizonius, Professor of Eloquence, History, and the Greek Tongue in Leyden, Dr. George Grevius, Professor of Theology in Utrecht; and several other Learned Men— wherein is given a very particular Account of the QUEEN's LIFE, during her Residence in HOLLAND, etc. Done into English from the Latin Original.  
Some Remarkable Passages in the Life and Death of her late Majesty, not hitherto made public, as they were delivered in a Funeral Oration, pronounced by public Authority, in the Hall of the most Illustrious States, upon the day of the Royal Obsequies, March 5. 1695. by Francis Spanheimius, F. F. Chief Professor of the Academy of Leyden. Done into English from the Latin Original; and Printed in 4 to, to bind up with the forementioned Orations.  
A Sermon upon the Death of the Queen of England, Preached in the Walloon-Church at the Hague, Feb. 6, 1695. Upon these Words, Acts 9 v. 36, 37. There was at Joppa a certain Disciple whose name was Tabytha, which signifies Dorcas, who was full of Good Works and the Alms-deeds which she did. It happened in those days that she fell sick and died. By Isaac Claude, Minister of the Walloon-church. Done into English from the Second Edition Printed in French.  
Lachrymoe Sacerdotis. A Pindaric Poem occasioned by the Death of that most Excellent Princess, our late Gracious Sovereign Lady, Mary II. of Glorious Memory. By Henry Park, Curate of Wentworth in Yorkshire.  
The Tragedies of sin contemplated in the Fall of Man, the Ruin of the Angels, the destruction of the Old World, the Confusion of Babel, and Conflagration of Sodom, by Stephen jay, Rector of Chinner in Oxfordshire. Price 2 s. 6 d.  
A Practical Discourse on 1 Thes. 4. 7. by john Brandon. Rector of Finchamsted.  
A Treatise of Fornication, by William Barlow, Rector of Chalgrave.  
The frailty and uncertainty of the Life of Man, delivered in a Sermon at the Funeral of a Person that died suddenly, by the Reverend Mr. W. Bush.  
A Practical Discourse upon Col. 3. 5. by R. Carr, Vicar of Sutton.  
Dr. Singleton's Practical Discourses upon 1 john 12. 28.  
Practical Discourses on Sickness and Recovery, in several Sermons, as they were lately Preached in a Congregation in London, by T. Rogers, M. A. after his Recovery from a sickness of near Two Years continuance.  
Early Religion, or a discourse of the duty and Interest of Youth. The 2 d Edition, price 1 s.  
Fall not out by the way; or a persuasion to a Friendly Correspondence between the Conformists and Nonconformists, in a Funeral Discourse on Gen. 45. 24. occasioned by the desire of Mr. Anthony Dunwell, in his last Will. All three written by T. Rogers, M.A. price 1 s.  
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Mr. Boyses Answer to Bp. King.  
The Vanity and Impiety of Judicial Astrology. Price 3 d.  
Mensalia Sacra, or Meditations on the Lord's Supper, both Written by the Reverend M. F. Crow, M. A. late Minister at Clare in Suffolk. Price 1 s.  
A Practical Discourse on the late Earthquakes, by a Reverend Divine. Price 6 d.  
Triunity, or the Doctrine of the Holy Trinity asserted in a Discourse on 2 Cor. 13. 14. by Isaac Mauduit, Minister of the Gospel, price 6 d.  
An Earnest Call to Family Catechising and Reformation, by a Revend Divine. Price 6 d. or 50 for 20 s.  
Comfort for Parents mourning over their Hopeful Children that die young, by T. Whitaker, Minister at Leeds in Yorkshire.  
The 3d Edition of the Life and Death of the Reverend Mr. john Ellios', who was the first Preacher of the Gospel to the Indians in America, with an Account of the wonderful success which the Gospel has had amongst the Heathens in that part of the World. Written by Cotton Mather, price 1 s.  
Gospel Truth stated and vindicated, the Second Edition, price 1 s.  
A Defence of Gospel Truth, price 6 d.  
Man made Righteous by Christ's Obedience, being two Sermons at Pinners-Hall, with Inlargements.  
The Vanity of Childhood and Youth, all four written by D. Williams.  
The Young Man's Claim to the Sacrament, by I. Quick. Price 6 d.  
Mr. Barkers Flores Intellectuales. In two parts.  
Some Remarkable Passages in the Life and Death of Mr. john Mason, late Minister of Water Stratford, drawn up by a Reverend Divine, to which is added his Christian Letters, printed from the Original Copies.  
Proposals for a National Reformation of Manners to which is added the Instrument for Reformation, etc. price 6 d.  
The Knowledge of the World, or the Art of well educating Youth through the various conditions of Life, by way of Letters to a Noble Lord, Vol. 1. to be continued in that method till the whole Design is finished. Printed first at Paris, afterwards reprinted at Amsterdam, and now done into English.  
A Narrative of the extraordinary Cure wrought in an instant upon Mrs. Elizabeth Savage, Lame from her Birth, without the ufing any Natural Means; with the Affidavits which were sworn before the Right Honourable the Lord Mayor, and the Certificates of several credible Persons, who knew her both before and since her Cure. Price 6 d.  
The Fourth Edition of the Lives, Trials, and dying Speeches of those Eminent Protestants who fell in the West of England, and elsewhere, from the year 1678, to 1689.  
COMPLETE SETS of the Athenian Mercury (being Nineteen Volumes, etc.) resolving all the most nice and curious Questions proposed by Ladies and Gentlemen for the last five YEARS.  
The History of several Remarkable Penitents— to which is added a Sermon Preached at Boston in New-England, to a Condemned Malefactor, by Increase Mather.  
A Narrative of the Conversion of Mackerness, late of March, in the Isle of Ely, by Mr. Burroughs, Minister at Wisbech. Price 1 s.  
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The Trials of several Witches lately executed in New-England. The Third Edition. Price 1 s.  
The Trials of Peter Bess, George Keith, Thomas Budd, and William Bradford, Quakers, for several great Misdemeanours, (as was pretended by their Adversaries) before a Court of Quakers, at the Sessions held at Philadelphia, in Pensylvania, the 9 th', 10 th', and 12 th' days of December, 1692. Giving also an Account of the most Arbitrary procedure of that Court.  
The Divine Captain Characterised, In a Sermon published at the beginning of the War with France.  
The LAY- CLERGY.— In a short Essay in Answer to this Query,— Whether it be lawful for Persons in Holy Orders to exercise Temporal Offices, Honours, jurisdictions and Authorities.— With Arguments and Objections on both sides, poyz'd, and indifferently weighed. Both Written by EDMUND HICKERINGIL, Rector of All-saints in- Colchester.   

BOOKS now in the Press, and Designed for it; Printed for JOHN DUNTON.  
THe Life of the Reverend Mr. Richard Baxter, left for the Press under his own hand, in Folio.  
The Lord Faulkland's Works, Secretary of State to King Charles the I. in Folio.  
An History of all Remarkable Providences which have happened in this present Age, by William Turner, M. A. and Vicar of Walberton in Sussex, in Folio.  
The Third and Fourth Volumes of the French Book of Martyrs, are now preparing for the Press, and will be published with Her Majesty's Royal Privilege.  
The Second Edition of Right Christianity, by the Reverend Mr. Matth. Barker.  
The CHALLENGE, etc.— mentioned in the Athenian Mercury, Vol. 15, Numb. 28.