CELIA to DAMON.

Atque in Amore mala hac proprio, summéque fecundo

Inveniuntur

W

Lucret. Lib. 4.

By the fame Hand.

Hat can I fay, what Arguments can prove My Truth, what Colours can defcribe my Love? If its Excess and Fury be not known

In what thy Celia has already done?

Thy Infant Flames, whilft yet they were conceal'd
In tim'rous Doubts, with Pity I beheld;
With eafie Smiles difpell'd the filent Fear,
That durft not tell me what I dy'd to hear:
In vain 1 ftrove to check my growing Flame,
Or fhelter Paffion under Friendship's Name;
You faw my Heart, how it my Tongue bely'd,
And when you prefs'd, how faintly. I deny'd.-----
E'er Guardian Thought cou'd bring its scatter'd Aid,
E'er Reason cou'd fupport the doubting Maid,
My Soul furpriz'd, and from its self disjoin'd,
Left all Referve, and all the Sex behind,
From your Command her Motions the receiv'd,
And not for me, but you, fhe breath'd and liv'd...
But ever bleft be Cytherea's Shrine,

And Fires Eternal on her Altars shine;

Since thy dear Breast has felt an equal Wound,
Since in thy Kindnefs my Defires are crown'd.
By thy each Look, and Thought, and Care, 'tis shown
Thy Joys are center'd All in me alone;

And fure I am thou wou'dft not change this Hour
For all the White ones Fate has in its Pow'r.--
Yet thus belov'd, thus loving to Excefs,
Yet thus receiving and returning Blifs,
In this Great Minute, is this Golden Now,
When ev'ry Trace of what, or when, or how

Shou'd from my Soul by raging Love be torn,
And far on fwelling Seas of Rapture born;}
A melancholly Tear afflicts my Eye,
And my Heart labours with a fudden Sigh;
Invading Fears repel my Coward Joy,
And Ills forefeen the prefent Bliss destroy.
Poor as it is, this Beauty was the Cause,
That with firft Sighs your panting Bofom rofe;
But with no Owner Beauty long will stay,
Upon the Wings of Time born swift away:
Pafs but fome fleeting Years, and these poor Eyes
(Where now without a boaft fome Beauty lyes,)
No longer fhall their little Luftre keep,
And only be of ufe to read, or weep.

And on this Forehead, where your Verfe has faid
The Loves delighted, and the Graces play'd,
Infulting Age will trace his cruel. Way,

And with indentedFurrows mark his fad extent of Sway.
Mov'd by my Charms, with them your Love may cease,
And as the Fuel finks the Flame decrease.

Of angry Heav'n may quicker Darts prepare,
And Sickness strike what Time a while wou'd fpare.
Then will my Swain his glowing Vows renew?
Then will his throbbing Heart to mine, beat true?
When my own Face deters me from my Glass,
And Kneller only fhows what Celia was?

Fantastick Fame may found her wild Alarms,
And Custom call you forth to distant Arms.
You may neglect, or quench, or hate the Flame,
Whofe Smoak too long obfcur'd your rifing Name:
And quickly cold Indiff'rence will enfue,

When you Love's Joys thro' Honour's Optic view;
Then Celia's loudest Pray'r will prove too weak,
To this abandon'd Breaft to bring you back.
When my loft Lover the tall Ship afcends,
With Mufick gay, and wet with jolly Friends;
The tender Accents of a Woman's Cry:
Will pafs unheard, will unregarded die,

While the rough Seaman's louder Shouts prevail,
When fair Occasion fhows the fpringing Gale,
And Int'reft guides the Helm, and Honour fills the
Sail.

Some wretched Lines from this neglected Hand,
May find you landed on the Foreign Strand,
Fill'd with new Fires, and pleas'd with new Com-
mand.

While she who wrote 'em, of all Joy bereft,
To the rude Cenfure of the World is left;
Her mangl'd Fame in barb'rous Paftime loft
The Coxcomb's Novel, and the Drunkard's Toast.
But nearer Care, O pardon it! supplies

で

Sighs to my Breaft, and Sorrow to my Eyes.
Love, Love himself, the only Friend I have,
May scorn his Triumph, having bound his Slave;
That Tyrant God, that restless Conqueror,
May quit his Pleasure to affert his Power;
Forfake the Provinces that bless his Sway,
To vanquish those which will not yet obey.
Another Nymph with fatal Pow'r may rise,
To damp the finking Beams of Celia's Eyes;
With haughty Pride may hear her Charms confeft,
And scorn the ardent Vows that I have bleft:
You ev'ry Night may figh for her in vain,
And rife each Morning to fome fresh Disdain;
While Celia's fofteft Look may ceafe to charm,
And her Embraces want the Pow'r to warm;
While thefe fond Arms, thus circling you, may prove,
More heavy Chains than those of hopelefs Love.-
Juft Gods! all other things their Like produce:
The Vine arifes from its Mother's Juice;
When feeble Plants, or tender Flow'rs decay,
They to their Seed their Images convey:
Where the old Myrtle her good Influence sheds,
Sprigs of like Leaf erect their Filial Heads ;
And when the Parent Rofe decays, and dies,
With a resembling Face the Daughter Buds arife.

That Product only which our Paffions bear,
Eludes the Planter's miferable Care:

While blooming Love affures us Golden Fruit,
Some inborn Poifon taints the fecret Root;
Soon fall the Flow'rs of Joy, and foon the Seeds
of Hatred fhoot..

Say, Shepherd, fay, are thefe Reflections true?
Muft Celia be undone for loving you?

Will you be only, and for ever mine?

Shall neither Time nor Age our Souls disjoin?
From this dear Bofom fhall I ne'er be torn?
Or you grow Cold, Refpectful, and Forfworn?
And can you not for her you love do more,
Than any Youth for any Nymph before?

To a Young GENTLEMAN in Love. A TALE.

FR

ROM publick Noife and factious Strife,
From all the bufie Ills of Life,

Take me, my Chloe, to thy Breast,
And lull my wearied Soul to Reft.
For ever in this humble Cell,

Let Thee and I, my Fair One, dwell
None enter elfe, but Love-----and He
Shall bar the Door, and keep the Key.

To painted Roofs and fhining Spires,
(Uneafie Seats of high Defires)
Let the unthinking Many crond,
That dare be Covetous and Proud;
In Golden Bondage let them wait,
And Barter Happiness for State:
But Oh! my Chloe, when thy Swain
Defires to fee a Court again,

May Heav'n around this deftin'd Head
The choiceft of its Curfes thed:

To fum up all the Rage of Fate
In the Two Things I dread and hate,
May'ft thou be Falfe, and I be Great.
Thus, on his Chloe's panting Breaft,
Fond Celadon his Soul expreft;
While with Delight the lovely Maid
Receiv'd the Vows the thus repaid.

Hope of my Age, Joy of my Youth,
Bleft Miracle of Love and Truth!
All that cou'd e'er be counted mine,
My Love and Life, long fince are thine;
A real Joy I never knew,

'Till I believ'd thy Paffion true;
A real Grief I ne'er can find,
'Till thou prov'ft Perjur❜d or Unkind.
Contempt, and Poverty, and Care,
All we abhor, and all we fear,
Bleft with thy Presence, I can bear;
Can fufter Racks, and run thro' Flame,
Still contented, ftill the fame;

Then trace me fome unheard of Way,
Thy conftant Ardour to repay,
For I my Sense of it wou'd show
In more than Woman e'er cou'd do.
Had I a Wish that did not bear

The Stamp and Image of my Dear,
I'd pierce my Heart thro' ev'ry Vein,
And die to let it out again.
No: Venus fhall my Witnefs be,
(If Venus ever lov'd like me)
That for one Hour wou'd not quit
My Shepherd's Arms, and this Retreat,
To be the Perfian Monarch's Bride,
Part'ner of all his Pow'r and Pride;
Or rule in Regal State above,
Mother of Gods, and Wife of Jove.
Happy thefe of Human Race:.

But oh! how foon our Pleafures pafs!

}

}