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XII.
Philetus he was call’d, sprung from a race
Of noble ancestors; but greedy Time
And envious Fate had labour'd to deface
The glory which in his great stock did shine:
Small his estate, upfitting her degree;
But blinded Love could no such diff'rence fec.

XIII.
Yet he by chance had hit this heart aright,
And dipp'd his arrow in Conftantia's eyes,
Blowing a fire that would destroy him«quite, 75
Unless such fames within her heart should rise:
But yet he fears, because he blinded is,
Tho' he have shot him right her heart he'll miss.

XIV.
Unto Love's altar therefore he repairs,
And offers up a pleasing facrifice,

80
Entreating Cupid, with inducing pray’rs,
To look upon and eafe his miseries;
Where having pray'd, recoy'ring breath again,
Thus to immortal Love he did complain : bien

XV. “ Oh! mighty C...

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XVI. 6. And let me not affection vainly fpend, « But kindle fames in her like those in me; “ Yet if that gift my fortune doth tranfcend, * Grant that her charming beauty I may fees “ For ever view those eyes, wbofe charming light 95 « More than the world besides daes please my ligbt.

XVII. • Those who contemn thy facred deity, “ Laugh at thy pow’r, make them thine anger know; 56 I faultlefs am; what honour can it be “ Only to wound your llave, and fpare your foe?" Ico Here tears and fighs fpeak his imperfect moan, la language far more moving than his own.

XVIII.
Home he retir'd; his foul he brought not home;
Just like a ship, while every mounting wave,
Tofs'd by enraged Boreas up and down,

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XXIV.
No morning banish'd darkness, nor black Night,
By her alternate course, expelld the day 140
In which Philetus by a constant rite :)
At Cupid's altars did not wecp and pray ;
And yet he nothing reap'd for all his pain,
But care and forrow was his only gain.

XXV.
But now, at last, the pitying god, o'ercome

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By constant votes and tears, fix'd in her heart
A golden shaft; and he is now become
A suppliant to Love, that with like dart
He'd wound Philetus; does with tears implore
Aid from that pow'r she so much fcorn'd before. 150

XXVI. Little she thinks she kept Philetus' heart In her scorch'd breast, because her own she gave To him. Since either suffers equal smart, And a like measure in their torments have, His soul, his griefs, his fires, now her's are grown; Her heart, her mind, her love, is his alone. 156

XXVII. Whilst thoughts 'gainst thoughts rise up in mutiny, She took a lute (being far from any ears) And tun’d her song, posing that harmony Which poets attribute to heav'nly spheres. 160 Thus had se fung when her dear love was lain, She'd surely call'd him back from Styx again.

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