Then vent ten thousand Sighs and more:
Alas, 'twill break my Heart!

But, Sylvia, when this Conqueft's won,
And I am dead and cold,
Renounce the cruel Deed you've done,
Nor glory when 'tis told;
For ev'ry lovely gen'rous Maid,
Will take my injur'd Part,
And curfe thee, Sylvia, I'm afraid,
For breaking my poor Heart.

N

more will I my Paffion hide,
Tho' too prefuming it appear,
When long Despair a Heart has try'd,
What other torment can it fear?
Unlov'd of her I would not live,
Nor die till the the Sentence give.

Why fhou'd the Fair offended be,

If Virtue charm in Beauty's Dress:
If where fo much divine I fee,

My open Vows the Saint confefs!
Awak'd by wonders in her Eyes,
My former Idols I defpife,

蘇燕味

The

As

The WISH.

I.

S Leaves which from the Trees blown down
Are fcorch'd and fhrivel'd by the Sun;

Or Lillies which the Virgins crop

Contract their Beauty, die and drop:
So when I on Dorinda look,

I ftrait am with a Lightning strook;
But if I gaze a while and ftay
I melt infenfibly away.

II.

But then as foft and gentle Showers,
Renew old Life in dying Flowers;
Or Dew fhed on the Womb of Earth
Does give the Early Bloffoms birth:
So if Dorinda fheds a Tear

New ftrength and motion does appear
But if the balmy Kiffes gives,

My Soul returns again and lives.

III.

Therefore, my Dear, fince Life and Death
Depend at once upon your Breath;

Since what your Eyes of Life deprive,
Your Kiffes heal and do revive;
Kill and destroy me as you please,
For only then my Mind's at eafe,
When your Eyes and Lips contrive,
To make me often Die and Live,

PROLOGU

By Major ASTON.

E,

Entle Reproofs have long been try'd in vain,

Gmen but defpife us while we but complain:

Such numbers are concern'd for the wrong fide,
A weak refiftance ftill provokes their Pride;
And cannot ftem the fierceness of the Tide,
Laughers, Buffoons, with an unthinking Crowd
Of gaudy Fools, impertinent and loud,
Infult in every corner: Want of Sense,
Confirm'd with an outlandish Impudence,
Among the rude Difturbers of the Pit,
Have introduc'd ill Breeding, and false Wit;
To boaft their Lewdness here young Scourers meer,
And all the vile Companions of a Street,
Keep a perpetual bawling near that Door,'

Who beat the Bawd laft Night, who bilk'd theWhore:
They fnarl, but neither Fight nor pay a Farthing,
A Play-house is become a meer Bear-garden;
Where every one with Infolence enjoys,
His Liberty and Property of Noife.

Should true Senfe, with revengeful Fire, come down,
Our Sodom wants Ten Men to fave the Town:
Each Parish is infected: to be clear.

We must lose more than when the Plague was here:
While every little Thing perks up fo foon,
That at Fourteen it hectors up and down [Town,
With the beft Cheats and the worft Whores i'th'
Swears at a Play, who should be whipt at School,
The Foplings must in time grow up to rule,
The Fashion muft prevail to be a Fool.
Some powerful Mufe, infpir'd for our defence,
Arife, and fave a little common Sense:
In fuch a Cause, let thy keen Satyr bite,
Where Indignation bids thy Genius write:

Mark a bold leading Coxcomb of the Town,
And fingle out the Beaft and hunt him down;
Hang up his mangl'd Carcass on the Stage,
To fright away the Vermin of the Age.

On the Death of Mr. WALLER.

HO' ne'er fo Bafe, or never fo Sublime,

TH

All Human things must be the Spoil of Time:

Poet and Heroe with the reft muft go;

Their Fame may mount, their Duft muft lie as low. Thus mighty Waller is, at laft, expir'd,'

With Cowley, from a vicious Age retir'd,

As much Lamented, and as much Admir'd,

}

Long we enjoy'd him; on his tuneful Tongue

All Ears and Hearts with the fame Rapture hung,
As his on lovely Chloris while the Sung!

}

His Style does fo much Strength and Sweetness bear, Hear it but once, and you'd for ever hear!

Various his Subjects, yet they jointly warm, All Spirit, Life, and every Line a Charm: Correct throughout, fo exquifitely penn'd, What he had finish'd nothing else could mend. Now, in foft Notes, like dying Swans, he'd Sing, Now tow'r aloft, like Eagles on the Wing; Speak of adventrous needs in fuch a Strain, As all but Milton would attempt in vain; And only there, where his rap't Mufe does tell How in th' Ætherial War th' Apoftate Angels fell. His Labours, thus, peculiar Glory claim,

As writ with fomething more than Mortal Flame: Wit, Judgment, Fancy, and a heat Divine, [fhine: Throughout each part, throughout the whole does Th' Expreffion clear, the Thought fublime, and high, No flutt'ring, but with even wing he glides along the Sky,

Here the two bold contending Fleets are found, The mighty Rivals of the watery Round ; In Smoak and Flame involv'd, they could not Fight With fo much Force and Fire as he does Write. Here Galatea mourns; in fuch fad Strains Poor Philomel her wretched Fate complains. Here Fletcher and Immortal Johnfon shine, Deathless, preferv'd in his. Immortal Line. But where, O mighty Bard, where is that He, Surviving now, to do the fame for Thee? At fuch a Theam my confcious Muse retires, Unable to attempt thy Praise, she silently admires. Whether for Peaceful Charles, or Warlike James, His Lyre was Strung, the Mufes deareft Theams: Whether of Love's Succefs, when in the Eyes Of the kind Nymph the conscious Glances rise, When, blushing, the breaths fhort, and with conftraint denies;

Whether he paint the Lover's reftless Care, Or Sacharia, the difdainful Fair;

(Relentless Sacharissa, Deaf to Love,

The only She his Verse could never move;
But fure the ftopt her Ears, and fhut her Eyes,
He could not elfe have mifs'd the Heav'nly Prize.)
All this is manag'd with that Strength of Wit,
So happily, fo fmoothly, courtly writ,

As nothing but himself could' e'er have done;
And we no more must hope now he (great King of
Verfe) is gone.

Nor did Old Age damp the Poetick Flame, Loaded with Fourfcore Years, 'twas ftill the fame, Some we may fee, who in their Youth have writ Good Senfe, at fifty take their leave of Wit, Chimara's and incongruous Fables feign, Tedious, Infipid, Impudent, and Vain : But he knew no Decay; the facred Fire, Bright to the laft, did with himself expire.

Such was the Man, whofe Lofs we now deplore, Such was the Man, but we should call him more,