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But if the kind flood on a wave should convey,
And under your window my body should lay,
The wound on my breast when you happen to see,
You'll say with a sigh — it was given by me.


A choir of bright beauties in spring did appear,
To choose a May-lady to govern the year;
All the nymphs were in white, and the shepherds

in green ;

The garland was given, and Phyllis was queen:
But Phyllis refus'd it, and sighing did say,
I'll not wear a garland while Pan is away.


require copying here. But the following ludicrous stanza, which I have seen in MS. and which is a coeval parody on Dryden's Song to Armida, deserves to be cited:

'Or if the king please that I may, at his charge,
Just under your window be brought in a barge;
Nay, 'twill be enough, as I died a brave fighter,
If but to your window I come in a lighter;
Or, rather than faile to shew my love fuller,
I would be content to arrive in a sculler;
But if me these favours my fate hath deny'd,

I hope to come floating up with the spring tyde.' Armida is said to have been the beautiful Frances Stuart, wife of Charles, Duke of Richmond. Captain Digby was killed at sea in the engagement between the English and the Dutch fleet, off Southwold Bay, in 1672. T.

While Pan and fair Syrinx are fled from our shore, The Graces are banish’d, and Love is no more: The soft god of pleasure, that warm’d our desires, Has broken his bow, and extinguish'd his fires : 10 And vows that himself and his mother will mourn, Till Pan and fair Syrinx in triumph return.

Forbear your

addresses, and court us no more, For we will perform what the deity swore: But if you dare think of deserving our charms, 15 Away with yoursheephooks, and take to your arms: Then laurels and myrtles your brows shall adorn, When Pan, and his son, and fair Syrinx return.


FAIR, sweet, and young, receive a prize
Reserv’d for your victorious eyes :
From crowds, whom at your feet you see,
O pity, and distinguish me!
As I from thousand beauties more
Distinguish you, and only you adore.


Your face for conquest was design'd,

motion charms my mind; Angels, when you your silence break, Forget their hymns, to hear you speak;

But when at once they hear and view,
Are loth to mount, and long to stay with you.


No graces can your form improve,
But all are lost, unless you

love ;
While that sweet passion you disdain,
Your veil and beauty are in vain :
In pity then prevent my fate,
For after dying all reprieve's too late.



High state and honours to others impart,

But give me your heart:
That treasure, that treasure alone,

I beg for my own.
So gentle a love, so fervent a fire,

My soul does inspire;
That treasure, that treasure alone,

I beg for my own.
Your love let me crave;

Give me in possessing

So matchless a blessing ;
That empire is all I would have.

Love's my petition,
All my ambition ;
If e'er you discover



So faithful a lover,
So real a flame,
I'll die, I'll die,
So give up my game.


Go tell Amynta, gentle swain,
I would not die, nor dare complain :
Thy tuneful voice with numbers join,
Thy words will more prevail than mine.
To souls oppress'd, and dumb with grief,
The gods ordain this kind relief;
That music should in sounds convey
What dying lovers dare not say.



A sigh or tear, perhaps, she'll give,
But love on pity cannot live.
Tell her that hearts for hearts were made,
And love with love is only paid.
Tell her my pains so fast increase,
That soon they will be past redress ;
But ah! the wretch that speechless lies
Attends but death to close his eyes.




Ask not the cause, why sullen Spring

So long delays her flowers to bear;
Why warbling birds forget to sing,

And winter storms invert the year
Chloris is gone, and fate provides
To make it Spring where she resides.



Chloris is gone, the cruel fair ;

She cast not back a pitying eye; But left her lover in despair,

To sigh, to languish, and to die: Ah, how can those fair eyes

To give the wounds they will not cure !
Great god of love, why hast thou made

A face that can all hearts command,
That all religions can invade,
And change the laws of every

land? Where thou hadst plac'd such power before, Thou shouldst have made her mercy more.




When Chloris to the temple comes,

Adoring crowds before her fall:
She can restore the dead from tombs,

And every life but mine recall.
I only am by love design'd
To be the victim for mankind.

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