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A more indulgent mistress guides our fp'rits,
Reason, that dares beyond our appetites:
She would our care as well as thirst redrefs,
And with divinity rewards excefs.
Deferted Ariadne, thus fupply'd,
Did perjur'd Thefeus' cruelty deride:
Bacchus embrac❜d, from her exalted thought
Banish'd the man, her paffion, and his fault.
Bacchus and Phoebus are by Jove ally'd,
And each by other's timely heat fupply'd:
All that the grapes owe to his rip'ning fires
Is paid in numbers which their juice infpires.
Wine fills the veins, and healths are understood
To give our friends a title to our blood:

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Who, naming me, doth warm his courage fo,
Shews for my fake what his bold hand would do. 18

XXIV.

OF MY LADY ISABELLA

PLAYING ON THE LUTE.

Suen moving founds from fuch a careless touch!
So unconcern'd herself, and we fo much!

What art is this, that with fo little pains
Transports us thus, and o'er cur fpirits reigns?
The trembling frings about her fingers crowd,
And tell their joy for ev'ry kifs alond.

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Small force there needs to make them tremble fo;
Touch'd by that hand, who would not tremble too?
Here Love takes ftand, and while the charms the ear,
Empties his quiver on the lift'ning deer.
Mufick so softens and disarms the mind,
That not an arrow does refiftance find.
Thus the fair tyrant celebrates the prize,
And acts herself the triumph of her eyes:
So Nero once, with harp in hand, furvey'd
His flaming Rome, and as it burn'd he play'd.

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XXV.

OF MRS. ARDEN.

BEHOLD, and liften, while the fair
Breaks in fweet founds the willing air,
And with her own breath fans the fire,
Which her bright eyes do first inspire.
What reafon can that love control,
Which more than one way courts the foul?
So when a flash of lightning falls

On our abodes, the danger calls
For human aid, which hopes the flame
To conquer, tho' from heav'n it came;
But if the winds with that confpire,
Men ftrive not, but deplore the fire,

Volume 1.

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XXVI.

OF THE

MARRIAGE OF THE DWARFS.

DESIGN OF Chance makes others wive,
But Nature did this match contrive:
Eve might as well have Adam fled,
As she deny'd her little bed

To him, for whom Heav'n feem'd to frame
And measure out this only dame.

Thrice happy is that humble pair,
Beneath the level of all care!
Over whofe heads thofe arrows fly
Of fad diftrust and jealoufy;
Secured in as high extreme,

As if the world held none but them.

To him the fairest nymphs do fhow

Like moving mountains topp'd with fnow;
And ev'ry man a Polypheme

Does to his Galatea feem:

None may presume her faith to prove;
He proffers death that proffers love.

Ah! Chloris! that kind Nature thus
From all the world had fever'd us;
Creating for ourselves us two,
As Love has me for only you!

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XXVII.

LOVE'S FAREWELL.

TREADING the path to nobler ends,
A long farewell to love I gave,
Refolv'd my country and my friends

All that remain'd of me should have.

And this refolve no mortal dame,

None but those eyes could have o'erthrown;
The nymph I dare not, need not name,
So high, fo like herself alone.

Thus the tall oak, which now aspires
Above the fear of private fires,

Grown and defign'd for nobler use,

Not to make warm, but build the house,
Tho' from our meaner flames fecure,

Mut that which falls from heav'n endure.

XXVIII.

FROM A CHILD.

MADAM, as in fome climes the warmer fun Makes it full fummer e'er the spring's begun, And with ripe fruit the bending boughs can load, Before our violets dare look abroad;

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So measure not by any common ufe
The early love your brighter eyes produce.
When lately your fair hand in wonian's weed
Wrapp'd my glad head, I wish'd me so indeed,
That hafty time might never make me grow
Out of thofe favours afford me now;

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That I might ever such indulgence find,
And you not blush, or think yourself too kind;
Who now, I fear, while I these joys exprefs,
Begin to think how you may make them lefs.
The found of love makes your soft heart afraid, 15
And guard itself, tho' but a child invade,
And innocently at your white breast throw
A dart as white, a ball of new-fall'n fnow.

XXIX.

ON A GIRDLE.

THAT which her flender waist confin'd,
Shall now my joyful temples bind:
No monarch but would give his crown,
His arms might do what this has done.

It was my heav'n's extremeft fphere,
The pale which held that lovely deer.
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,
Did all within this circle move!

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