"First it came ftealing on me, whilft I thought ""Twas easy to repel it; but as fire,

Though but a spark, foon into flames is brought, "So mine grew great, and quickly mounted higher; "Which so have scorch'd my love-ftruck soul, that I "Still live in torment, yet each minute die." "Who is it," faid Philocrates, " can move "With charming eyes fuch deep affection? "I may perhaps aflift you in your love; "Two can effect more than yourself alone.

My counsel this thy error may reclaim,

"Or my falt tears quench thy deftructive flame.” "Nay," faid Philetus, " oft my eyes do flow "Like Nilus when it fcorns th' oppofed fhore; "Yet all the watery plenty I bestow,

"Is to my flame an oil that feeds it more.
"So fame reports o' th' Dodonéan spring,
"That lightens all those which are put therein.

"But, being you defire to know her, she
"Is call'd" (with that his eyes let fall a fhower,
As if they fain would drown the memory
Of his life-keeper's name) " Conftantia-" More
Grief would not let him utter; tears, the best
Expreffers of true forrow, spoke the rest.

To which his noble friend did thus reply:

"And was this all? Whate'er your grief would ease, Though a far greater task, believe 't, for thee

"It fhould be foon done by Philocrates:

"Think all you wish perform'd; but see, the day, "Tir'd with its heat, is hafting now away!"

Home

Home from the filent woods night bids them go:
But fad Philetus can no comfort find;

What in the day he fears of future woe,

At night in dreams, like truth, affrights his mind. Why doft thou vex him, Love? Could 'ft thou but fee, Thou would'st thyself Philetus' rival be.

Philocrates, pitying his doleful moan,

And wounded with the forrows of his friend,
Brings him to fair Conftantia; where alone
He might impart his love, and either end
His fruitless hopes, nipt by her coy disdain,
Or, by her liking, his wifht joys attain.

"Faireft," faid he," whom the bright heavens do cover,
"Do not these tears, these speaking tears, defpife!
"These heaving fighs of a fubmiffive lover,
"Thus ftruck to th' earth by your all-dazzling eyes!
"And do not you contemn that ardent flame,
"Which from yourself, your own fair beauty, came!
"Truft me, I long have hid my love; but now
"Am fore'd to fhow 't, fuch is my inward smart!
"And you alone, fair Saint! the means do know
"To heal the wound of my confuming heart.

"Then, fince it only in your power doth lie "To kill or fave, Oh! help, or else I die.'* His gently cruel love did thus reply; "I for your pain am grieved, and would do, "Without impeachment of my chastity "And honour, any thing might pleasure you,

But, if beyond thofe limits you demand, "I must not answer, Sir, nor understand."

4

"Believe

"Believe me, virtuous maiden! my defire
" Is chafte and pious as thy virgin thought;
"No flash of luft, 'tis no dishonest fire,

"Which goes as foon as it was quickly brought;
"But as thy beauty pure; which let not be

"Oh! how fhall I reply ?" the cry'd, « thou 'ft won "My foul, and therefore take thy victory:

"Thy eyes and fpeeches have my heart o'ercome, "And if I fhould deny thee love, then I

"Should be a tyrant to myself: that fire "Which is kept close burns with the greateft ire.

"Yet do not count my yielding lightness, now; Impute it rather to my ardent love;

"Thy pleafing carriage won me long ago,

"And pleading beauty did my liking move; [might

Thy eyes, which draw like loadstones with their "The hardest hearts, won mine to leave me quite."

[thee

"Oh! I am rapt above the reach,” said he, "Of thought; my foul already feels the bliss "Of heaven: when, Sweet, my thoughts once tax but

"With any crime, may I lofe all happiness

"Is wish'd for; both your favour here, and dead, "May the just gods pour vengeance on my head!" Whilft he was speaking this (behold their fate!) Conftantia's father enter'd in the room,

When glad Philetus, ignorant of his state,
Kiffes her cheeks, more red than fetting fun,

Or else the morn, blushing through clouds of water,
To fee afcending Sol congratulate her.

Juft

Juft as the guilty prifoner fearful ftands,

Reading his fatal Theta in the brows

Of him who both his life and death commands,
Ere from his mouth he the fad fentence knows :
Such was his state to see her father come,
Nor wifh'd-for, nor expected, in the room.

Th' enrag'd old man bids him no more to dare
Such bold intrufion in that house, nor be

At any time with his lov'd daughter there,
Till he had given him fuch authority:

But to depart, fince the her love did shew him, Was living death, with lingering torments to him. This being known to kind Philocrates,

He chears his friend, bidding him banish fear,
And by fome letter his griev'd mind appease,
And fhew her that which to her friendly ear
Time gave no leave to tell: and thus his quill
Declares to her the absent lover's will.

THE

PHILETUS

LETTER.

TO CONSTANTIA.

I TRUST, dear foul, my abfence cannot move
You to forget or doubt my ardent love;
For, were there any means to fee you, I
Would run through death, and all the misery
Fate could inflict; that fo the world might say,
In life and death I lov'd Conftantia.

Then

Then let not, deareft Sweet, our abfence part

Our loves, but each breast keep the other's heart;
Give warmth to one another, till there rife
From all our labours and our induftries

The long-expected fruits: have patience, Sweet,
There's no man whom the fummer pleasures greet
Before he taste the winter; none can say,

Ere night was gone, he saw the rifing day.

So, when we once have wasted sorrow's night,
The fun of comfort then shall give us light.

PHILETUS.

This, when Conftantia read, fhe thought her state
Most happy, by Philetus' conftancy

And perfect love: fhe thanks her flattering fate,
Kiffes the paper, till with kiffing fhe

The welcome characters doth dull and ftain:
Then thus with ink and tears writes back again.

CONSTANTIA

TO PHIL ET US.

YOUR abfence, Sir, though it be long, yet I

Neither forget nor doubt your conftancy.

Nor need you fear that I fhould yield unto
Another, what to your true love is due.
My heart is yours; it is not in my claim,

Nor have I power to take it back again.

There's nought but death can part our fouls; no time,
Or angry friends, fhall make my love decline:

But for the harvest of our hopes I'll stay,
Unless death cut it, ere 'tis ripe, away.

CONSTANTIA.

Oh!