Oh, fountains! when in you shall I Myself, eas'd of unpeaceful thoughts, espy? Oh fields! oh woods! when, when fhall I be made The happy tenant of your shade ?

Here's the fpring-head of pleasure's flood;

Where all the riches lie, that the

Has coin'd and stamp'd for good.

Pride and ambition here,

Only in far-fetch'd metaphors appear;

Here nought but winds can hurtful murmurs scattery And nought but echo flatter.

The Gods, when they defcended, hither

From heaven did always chufe their way;

And therefore we may boldly fay,

That 'tis the way too thither.

How happy here should I,

And one dear. She, live, and embracing die !`
She, who is all the world, and can exclude
In defarts folitude.

I should have then this only fear

Left men, when they my pleasures fee,
Should hither throng to live like me,
And fo make a city here.

MY

M Y DIET.

NOW, by my Love, the greatest oath that is,

None loves you half fo well as I:

I do not ask your love for this;

But for Heaven's fake believe me, or I die.
No fervant e'er but did deserve

His mafter should believe that he does ferve;
And I'll ask no more wages, though I starve.

'Tis no luxurious diet this, and fure +
I shall not by 't too lusty prove ;.
Yet fhall it willingly endure,

If 't can but keep together life and love.
Being your prifoner and your slave,

I do not feasts and banquets look to have,
A little bread and water 's all I crave..

On a fight of pity I.a year can live;

One tear will keep me twenty, at least;
Fifty, a gentle look will give ;

An hundred years on one kind word I'll feaft:
A thousand more will added be,

If you an inclination have for me;
And all beyond is vaft eternity!

THE

TH

THE THIEF.

HOU robb'ft my days of bufinefs and delights,
Of fleep thou robb'st my nights;

Ah, lovely thief! what wilt thou do?
What? rob me of heaven too?

Thou ev'n my prayers doft steal from me;
And I, with wild idolatry,

Begin to God, and end them all to thee.

Is it a fin to love, that it should thus,
Like an ill confcience torture us?
Whate'er I do, where'er I go,
(None guiltless e'er was haunted fo!)
Still, ftill, methinks, thy face I view,
And still thy fhape does me purfue,
As if, not you me, but I had murder'd you.
From books I ftrive fome remedy to take,

But thy name all the letters make;
Whate'er 'tis writ, I find That there,
Like points and comma's every where:
Me bleft for this let no man hold;
For I, as Midas did of old,
Perish by turning every thing to gold.

What do I feek, alas! or why do I
Attempt in vain from thee to fly?
For making thee my deity,
I gave thee then ubiquity.
My pains resemble hell in this;

The divine prefence there too is,

But to torment men, not to give them blifs.

ALL

T

IS well, 'tis well with them, say I,

Whofe fhort-liv'd paffions with themselves can

die:

For none can be unhappy, who,

'Midft all his ills, a time does know (Though ne'er fo long) when he shall not be fo.

Whatever parts of me remain,
Thofe parts will still the love of thee retain ;.
For 'twas not only in my heart,

But, like a God, by powerful art

'Twas all in all, and all in every part..

My' affection no more perish can
Than the first matter that.compounds a man.
Hereafter, if one duft of me

Mix'd with another's fubftance be,
"Twill leaven that whole lump with love of thee...

Let Nature, if she please, difperfe

My atoms over all the universe;.

At the last they easily shall

Themselves know, and together call;

For thy love, like a mark, is stamp'd on all.

LOVE

AND LIFE.

Now, fure, within this twelvemonth paft,

I 'ave lov'd at least some twenty years or more::
Th' account of Love runs much more faft

Than that with which our life does fcore:
So, though my life be fhort, yet I may prove
The great Methufalem of Love.

Not that Love's hours or minutes are
Shorter than thofe our being 's meafur'd by;
But they're more clofe compacted far,
And fo in leffer room do lie:

Thin airy things extend themselves in space,
Things folid take up little place.

Yet Love, alas! and Life, in me,
Are not two several things, but purely one;
At once how can there in it be

A double, different motion?

O yes, there may; for fo the felf-fame fun
At once does flow and swiftly run :

Swiftly his daily journey he goes,

But treads his annual with a statelier pace;
And does three hundred rounds enclofe

Within one yearly circle's space;

At once, with double course in the fame sphere,
He runs the day, and walks the year.

When