To fwell our Eye, the Scenes of Woe, The diff'rent Fates of all that reign Whofe Tragick Voice fhall next prefume To Tears, whofe Sighs her Wrongs confefs, In vain we ask our Reason's Aid, To ftop our Tears, or cafe our Pain; To view thy Fair Repenting Maid, Each Cheek muft fwell, each Heart complain. O! footh her Anguish! calm her Grief! O quickly to her Refuge fly! O bring the Fainting Fair Relief, Or with her give us Leave to Dye! His excellent Tragedies. Such Such moving Scenes thy Mufe unfolds, What Wonders does thy Verfe contain, No Eye thofe Sorrows does refuse, Strange that our Cheeks fhou'd grieve the more And to forbid us to deplore, Shou'd only give us greater Pain. Thus trembling for her Lover's Fate, 0, Her Joy, more painful than her Woe.. may each Mufe with Sorrows meet! Soft as thy own, thy Worth declare; Since nothing but a Voice fo fweet, Can ever fing a Fame so Fair. A fecond Life to thy Great Dead, Thine, like each Fabled Hero's Age, Thy felf with Virtue didst Infpire; And acting well on Life's frail Stage, Doft with the fame Applaufe retire. POEM S Ο Ν Several Occafions. An EPISTLE to FLAVIA, On the Sight of two Pindarick Odes on the Spleen and Vanity. Written by a Lady her Friend. F LAVIA, to you with Safety I commend This Verfe, the fecret Failing of your Friend To your good Nature I fecurely truft, : Confcious Conscious of Folly, fears attending Shame, Sure, in the better Ages of old Time, Nor Poetry nor Love was thought a Crime; Then were bad Poets and loofe Loves not known; And spent in pure untainted Joys the Day: Nor could the Cenfor or the Critick fear. T Pleas'd to be pleas'd, they took what Heaven bestow'ds Nor were too curious of the given Good. At length, like Indians fond of fancy'd Toys, - While Bays grown old, and harden'd in Offence, Back'd |