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Beauty! Love's fcene and masquerade,

So gay by well-plac'd lights and distance made!
Falfe coin! with which th' impoftor cheats us still!
The stamp and colour good, but metal ill!

Which light or base we find, when we
Weigh by enjoyment, and examine thee!
For tho'
thy being be but show,

*Tis chiefly night which men to thee allow,

And chufe t' enjoy thee when thou least art thou.

Beauty! thou active, paffive ill!

Which dy't thyfelf as faft as thou dost kill!
Thou Tulip! who thy stock in paint dost waste,
Neither for phyfick good, nor fmell, nor taste.
Beauty! whofe flames but meteors are,

Shortliv'd and low, tho' thou wouldst seem a star,
Who dar'ft not thine own home defcry,


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Pretending to dwell richly in the eye,
When thou, alas! dost in the fancy lie.


Beauty! whofe conquests still are made
O'er hearts by cowards kept, or else betray'd;
Weak Victor! who thyself destroy'd must be
When Sickness storms, or Time befieges thee!
Thou unwholesome thaw to frozen age!


Thou frong wine which youth's fever doft enrage!

Thou tyrant! which leav'st no man free!

Thou fubtle thief! from whom nought safe can be! Thou murd'rer, whith hatt kill'd! and devil, which wouldit damn me!



As men in Greenland left beheld the fun

From their horizon run,

And thought upon the fad half year

Of cold and darkness they must suffer there:


So on my parting Mistress did look,

With fuch fwoln eyes my farewell took:

Ah! my fair Star! said I;


Ah! thofe blefs'd lands to which bright thou dost fly!


In vain the men of learning comfort me,
And say I'm in a warm degree;.

Say what they pleafe, I fay and fwear

'Tis beyond eighty, at least, if you 're not here.


It is, it is; I tremble with the froft,

And know that I the day have loft;

And those wild things which men they call,

I find to be but bears or foxes all.

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Return, return, gay Planet of mine Eaft!
Of all that shines thou much the best!
And as thou now descend'st to fea,

More fair and fresh rise up from thence to me.


Thou who, in many a propriety,

So truly art the fun to me,

Add one more likeness, which I'm fure you can,

And let me and my fun beget a man.



HERE, take my likeness with you, whilst 't is fo;

For when from hence you go,

The next fun's rifing will behold

Me pale, and lean, and old.

The man who did this Picture draw,

Will fwear next day my face he never faw.

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Your prefence will fuch vigour give,

(Your presence, which makes all things live)


And abfence fo much alter me,

This will the fubftance, I the shadow, be.


When from your well-wrought cabinet you take it,

And your bright looks awake it,

Ah! be not frighted if you fee

The new-foul'd Picture gaze on thee,

And hear it breathe a figh or two;

For those are the first things that it will do.


My rival image will be then thought blefs'd,
And laugh at me as difpoffefs'd;

But thou who, (if I know thee right)

I' th' fubftance doft not much delight,
Wilt rather fend again for me,

Who then shall but my Picture's picture he.



No; to what purpose fhould I fpeak?

No; wretched Heart! fwell till you break!

She cannot love me if she would,

And, to say truth, 't were pity that she should.

No; to the grave thy forrows bear,

As filent as they will be there :

Since that lov'd hand this mortal wound does give

So handsomely the thing contrive,

That she may guiltless of it live:

So perish, that her killing thee

May a chance-medley, and no murder, be.

Volume II.


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'Tis nobler much for me that I
By' her beauty, not her anger, die:
This will look juftly, and become
An execution, that a martyrdom.
The cens'ring world will ne'er refrain
From judging men by thunder flain.
She must be angry fure if I should be
So bold to ask her to make me,
By being her's, happier than fhe.
I will not; 't is a milder fate

To fall by her not loving than her hate.


And yet this death of mine, I fear,



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