While tell-tale Blushes told me what the meant,.
And wishing Looks betray'd her kind Intent.
Encourag'd thus, I boldly did invade
With eager ardour the forgiving Maid;
But when I clafp'd her Body close to mine,
'Twas more than Rapture all! 'twas all Divine !
Such Joys I knew, as Words want Pow'r to tell,
Joys! which the feeble reach of Thoughts excel:
My Soul, furpriz'd at the excess of Joy,
Unable to fuftain it, wing'd away,
Whilft all entranc'd, and ecftafi'd I lay.
Tell me, ye mighty Learned, (if you know) Where did my Soul in that fhort Transport go? Did it with willing hafte to her depart ?
It did, I'm fure it did, and flutter'd round her Heart ;
Bleft with the unknown Beauties of the Fair,
It heav'd, it trembled, and it panted there.
Unwilling to depart, 'twou'd ftill remain,
But all the weak Efforts to ftay were vain,
A Kifs reftor'd the Fugitive again;
That Kifs which wou'd a long Dead Corps revive,
Reverse its Doom, and kindly make it live;
My Soul re-enter'd, we repeated o'er
A Thousand Joys, unknown to both before.
Pardon me, Love, (thou Pow'rful Deity)
That Ifo long abftain'd from tafting thee:
I thought indeed (vain Fool!) in Books to meet
With folid Wisdom, and with true Delight:
To noifie Nothings I betray'd my Ease,
And idly dreamt away my fprightly Days;
But now, (though late) my Errors I perceive,
And know, I only now begin to Live:
Hence, ye ufurping Whimsies, hence retreat,
Whilft exil'd Love regains its lawful Seat ;-
Love, whofe bewitching Dictates I'll obey,
For I, with Titus, fhould repenting say,
Thofe Bleffings wanting, I have loft a Day:
No time fhall pass without that dear Delight,
I'll talk of Love all Day, and act it all the Night;
Fleafure and I, as to one Goal defign'd,
Will run with equal pace, while Sorrows flag behind.
O that I had but Jove's unbounded Might,
To lengthen Pleasures, and extend a Night!
Three trivial Nights fhou'd not my Wish confine,
Whole Tears themselves, and Ages fhou'd combine
To make my Joys as lafting, as Divine.
Then wou'd I lye enclos'd within her Arms,
Fierce as my Love, and Vig'rous as her Charms;
And both fhou'd be, (cou'd I decree their State)
As fixt, and as immutable as Fate:
Then wond'ring Mortals fhou'd with Envy fee,
That only those were bleft who Lov'd like me;
And Gods themselves fhould at my Blifs repine,
And learn to mend their now imperfect Joys by mine.
To his Perjur'd Miftrefs. From Horace. Nox erat, & coelo fulgebat luna fereno, &c.
By Mr. T. YALDEN.
T was one Evening, when the rifing Moon
Amidst her Train of Stars diftin&tly fhone:
Serene and calm was the inviting Night,
And Heav'n appear'd in all its luftre bright;
When you, Neara, you my perjur'd Fair,
Did, to abuse the Gods and me, prepare.
'Twas then you fwore, remember faithlefs Maid,
With what indearing Arts you then betray'd:
Remember all the tender things that paft,
When round my Neck your willing Arms were caft.
The circling Ivys, when with Oaks they join,
Seem loofe, and coy, to thofe fond Arms of thine
Believe, you cry'd, this folemn Vow believe,
The nobleft Pledge that Love and I can give;
Or if there's ought more faered here below,
Let that confirm my Oath to Heav'n and you.
If e'er my Breaft a guilty Flame receives,
Or covets Joys, but what thy Prefence gives:
May ev'ry injur'd Pow'r affert thy Cause,
And Love avenge his violated Laws:
While cruel Beafts of Prey infeft the Plain,
And Tempefts rage upon the faithlefs Main:
While Sighs and Tears shali liftning Virgins move,
So long, ye Powers, will fond Neara love.
Ah faithlefs Charmer, lovely perjur'd Maid! Are thus my Vows, and generous Flame repaid? Repeated flights I have too tamely boie,
Still doated on, and ftill been wrong'd the more.
Why do I liften to that Syrens Voice,
Love ev'n thy Crimes, and fly to guilty Joys!
Thy fatal Eyes my beft Refolves betray,
My Fury melts in foft Defires away :
Each look, each glance, for all thy Crimes attone,
Elude my Rage, and I'm again undone.
But if my injur'd Soul dares yet be brave,
Unless I'm fond of Shame, confirm'd a Slave,
I will be deaf to that enchanting Tongue,
Nor on thy Beauties gaze away my Wrong.
At length I'll loath each prostituted Grace,
Nor court the leavings of a cloy'd Embrace ;
But show, with manly Rage, my Soul's above
The cold returns of thy exhaufted Love.
Then thou shalt juftly mourn at my Disdain,
Find all thy Arts, and all thy Charms in vain :
Shalt Mourn, whilft I, with nobler Flames, purfue
Some Nymph as fair, tho" not unjust, as you;
Whofe Wit, and Beauty, shall like thine excel,
But far furpass in Truth, and loving well.
But wretched thou who e'er my Rival art,
That fondly boafts an Empire o'er her Heart;
Thou that enjoy'ft the fair inconftant Prize,
And vainly triumph'ft with my Victories;
Unenvy'd now, o'er all her Beauties rove,
Enjoy thy Ruin, and Neara's Love:
Tho' Wealth and Honours grace thy nobler Birth,
To bribe her Love, and fix a wand'ring Faith:
Tho' ev'ry Grace, and ev'ry Virtue join,
T'inrich thy Mind, and make thy Form divine:
Yet bleft with endless Charms, too foon you'll prove
The Treacheries of falfe Neara's Love.
Loft, and abandon'd by th' ungrateful Fa ir
Like me you'll Love, be Injur'd, and Despair.
When left th' unhappy Object of her Scorn,
Then fhall I fmile to fee the Victor mourn,
Laugh at thy Fate, and triumph in my Turn.
S it not Madness thus to be
Coy, and your Minutes wafte; To let the World be envying me Pleafures I ne'er did tafte:
Since this foul Scandal we have got,
Confent, and yield for fhame;
For all your Virtue now will not
Patch up your broken Fame.
Why should our Blifs then be delay'd?
The World can fay no more
Than what it has already faid,
And that is, thou'rt a Whore.
Let loofe thy Treffes, fpread thy Charms,
And to my Love give fresh Alarms.
O let me gaze on those bright Eyes;
Tho' facred Lightning from 'em flies:
Shew me that foft, that modeft Grace,
Which paints with Charming Red thy Face.
Give me Ambrofia in a Kiss,
That I may Rival Jove in Blifs;
That I may mix my Soul with thine,
And make the Pleasure all Divine.
O hide thy Bofom's killing White,
(The Milky-way is not fo Bright ;)
Left you my ravish'd Soul oppress
With Beauty's Pomp, and fweet Excess.
Why draw'st thou from the Purple Flood
Of my kind Heart, the vital Blood?
Thou art all over endlefs Charms!
O take me, dying, to thy Arms.
To WALTER MOYLE, Efq;
By Mr. Charles Hopkins.
O you, dear Touth, in thefe unpolish'd Strains,
And Hual Notes, your exil'd Friend complains.
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