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So when the watchful Shepherd, from the Blind,
Wounds with a random Shaft the careless Hind;
Distracted with her Pain lhe flies the Woods,
Bounds o'er the Lawn, and seeks the filent Floods,
With fruitless Care; for still the facal Dart
Sticks in her Side, and rankles in her Heart.
Anger in hasty Words or Blows,
It self discharges on our Foes;
And Sorrow too finds some Relief
In Tears, which waic upon our Grief :
So ev'ry Paflion, but fond Love,
Unto its own Redress does move :
But that alone the Wretch inclines
To what prevents his own Designs;
Makes him lament, and sigh, and weep,
Disorder'd, tremble, fawn, and creer:
Poftures which render him despis'd,
Where he endeavours to be priz'd.
But I must rowze my self, and give a Stop
To all those Ills by head long Passion caus'd:
In Minds resolv'd weak Love is put to flight,
And only conquers when we dare not fight.
But we indulge our Harms, and wbile he gains
An Entrance, please our selves into our Pains. , Dryd.Sec. Lové.
Rowze to the Combat, And thou art sure to conquer : Wars shall restore thee, The Sound of Arms shall wake thy martial Ardour, And cure this am'rous Sickness of thy Soul, Begun by Sloth, and nurs'd by coo much Ease. The idle God of Love supinely dreams Amidst inglorious Shades of purling Streams; In rosy Fetcers and fantastick Chains He binds deluded Maids and fimple Swains: With soft Enjoymencs wooes them to forget The hardy Toils and Labours of the Great : But if the warlike Trumpet's loud Alarms, To virtuous Ads excice and manly Arms ; The Coward Boy avows his abject Fear, On silken Wings fublime he cuts the Air, Scar'd at the noble Noise,and Thunder of the War.Row.Tamerl.
Away then, feeble God, I banish thee my Bosom: Hence, I say, Be gone; or I will tear the Strings thac hold thee, And stab thee in my Heart. The Wars come on : By Heav'n I'll drown thy laughing Deity In Blood, and drive thee with my brandith'd Sword. Lee Mithrid.
Yes! I will shake this Cupid' from my Arms,
If all the Rages of the Earth can fright him ;
Drown him in the deep Bowl of Hercules ;
Make the World drunk, and then like Æolus,
When he gave Passage to the struggling Winds;
l'll stick my Spear into the reeling Globe
To let it Blood : Sét Babylon in a Blaze,
(Lee Alex And drive this God of Flames with more consuming Fire.
LOYALTY. See Subject.
For Loyalty is still the same,
Whether it win or lose che Game;
True as the Dial to the Sun,
Altho' it be not shin'd upon.
But True and Faithful's fure to lose;
Which Way soever the Game goes;
And whether Parties lose or win,
Is always nick'd, or else hedg'd in:
While Pow'r usurp'd, like stoll'n Delight,
Is more bewitching than the right ;
And when the Times begin to alter,
None rise so high as from the Halter.
The Faith of most with Fortune does decline,
Duty's but Fear, and Conscience but Design.
Let Fools the Name of Loyalty divide;
Wise Men and Gods are on the strongest Side. Sedl. Ant.&Clear
For whom should we effeem above
The Men whom Gods do love.
The Laws of Friendship we our selves creato,
And 'cis but simple Villany to break 'em.
But Faith to Princes broke is Sacrilege,
An Injury to the Gods; and that loft Wretch,
Whosé Breast is poison'd with fo vile a Purpose,
'Tears Thunder down from Heav'n on his own Head,
And leaves a Curfe to his Pofteriey.
Roch. Valent LUST. As Virtue never will be mov'd, Tho Lewdness court it in a Shape of Heav'n: So Lust, tho' to a radiant Angel joynd, Will fear it self in a celestial Bed, And pray on Garbage.
Skak. Ham? To a Lady playing on the LUTE. The trembling Strings about her Fingers crowd, And tell their Joy for ev'ry Kiss aloud : Small Force there needs to make them tremble so Touch'd by that Hand, who would not tremble too? Here Love cakes Scand, and while she charms the Ear, Empties his Quiver on the lift'ning Deer:
Mufick so softens and difarms the Mind,
That not one Arrow does Resistance find :
Thus the fair Tyrant celebrates the Prize,
And acts her self the Triumph of her Eyes.
So Nero once with Harp in Hand survey'd
His flaming Rome, and as that burn'd he play'd.
To burning Rome when frantick Nero play’d,
Had he buc heard thy Lute, he foon had found
His Rage eluded, and his Crime atton'd:
Thine, like Amphion's Hand, had rais'd the Stone,
And from Destruction call’d a fairer Town:
Malice to Musick had been forc'd to yield,
Nor could he burn so fast as thou could'it build.
L Y R E.
Awake, awako, my Lyre,
And tell thy filent Master's humble Tale,
In Sounds that may prevail ;
Sounds that gentle Thoughts inspire :
Tho' fo exalted ihe,
And I fo lowly be,
Tell her fuch different Notes make all thy Harmony.
Hark how the Strings awake,
And tho' the moving Hand approach not near,
Themselves with awful Fear,
A kind of num'rous Trembling make:
Now all thy Forces try,
Now all thy Charms apply;
Revenge upon her Ear the Conquests of her Eye.
Weak Lyre, thy Virtue fure
Is useless here, since thou art only found
To cure, but not to wound,
And she to wound, but not to cure.
Too weak too wilt thou prove
My Passion to remove:
Phylick to other Ills, thou'rt Nourishment to Love.
Sleep! sleep again, my Lyre;
For thou canst never tell my humble Tale
In Sounds chat will prevail,
Nor gentle Thoughes in her inspire:
All thy vain Mirth lay by,
Bid thy Strings silentlie,
Sleep, fleep again, my Lyre, and let thy Malter die.
Now see that noble and most fov'raign Reason,
Like sweet Bells jangled out of Tune and harsh
Mad as the Seas and Winds, when both contend
Which is the mightier.
She hems, and beats her Breast,
Spurns enviously at Straws ; speaks things in Doubt,
That carry but half Sense:
Yet her unshap'd Use of Speech does move
The Hearers to Collection: They aim at it,
And her Words up-fit to their own Thoughts ;
Which as her Winks, and Nods, and Gestures yield them,
Indeed would make one think there would be Thoughts ;
Tho' nothing suit, yer much, unhappily.
Skak. Haml. Behold her lying in her Cell,
Her unregarded Locks
Matted like Furies Treffes ; her poor Limbs
Chain'd to the Ground ; and stead of those Delights,
Which happy Lovers tafte, her Keeper's Stripes,
A Bed of Straw, and a coarse wooden Dish
Of wretched Sustenance.
Observe the Gallantry of her Distraction :
Hark how she mouths the Heav'ns, and mates the Gods;
Her blazing Eyes darting the wand'ring Stars,
While with her thund'ring Voice she threatens high,
And ev'ry Accent twangs with smarting Sorrow. Lee Oedig.
He raves : His Words are loose
As Heaps of Sand, and scatt'ring wide from Sense.
So high he's mounted in his airy Throne,
That now the Wind is got into his Head,
And turns his Brains to Frenzy.
Dryd, Span. Fry.
As a robb'd Tigress bounding o'er the Woods. 'Lee Oedip.
Wild as Winds, That sweep the Defarts of our moving Plains. Dryd. Don Seb.
There is a Pleafure sure in being mad, Which none but Madmen know.
Dryd, Span, Fry Madmen ought not to be mad, But who can help their Frenzy ?
Dryd. Span, Fry A Woman! If you love my Peace of Mind, Name not a Woman to me : But to think Of Woman were enough to taint my Brains Till they ferment to Madness. A Woman is the thing I would forget, and blot from my Remembrance.
Orx: Orph. To my charm'd irs no more of Woman tell; Name not a Woman and I shall be well: Like a poor Lunatick chat makes his Moan, And for a while beguiles his Lookers on; He reasons well, his Eyes their Wildness lose, He vows the Keepers his wrong'd Sense abuse :
But if you hit the Cause that hurt his Brain,
Then his Teeth gnash, he foams, he shakes his Chain,
His Eye-balls rowl, and he is mad again. Lee Cæf. Borgo
TO M-A-BEDL A M.
I have bethought my self
To take the baseft and the poorest Shape,
That ever Penury in Contempt of Man,
Brought near to Beast. My Face I'll grime with Filth,
Blanket my Loins, put all my Hair in Knots;
And with presented Nakedness out-face
The Winds and Persecutions of the Sky.
The Country gives me Proof and President
Of Bedlam Beggars, who with roaring Voices
Strike into their nummid and mortify'd Arms
Pins, wooden Pricks, Nails, Sprigs of Rosemary ;
And with this horrible Object from low Farms,
Poor pelting Villages, Sheep cotes, and Mills,
Sometimes with lunátick Bans, sometimes with Pray’rs,
Inforce their Charity..
Shak. k. Lear.
MAN. See Babe, Creation, Philosophy.
Time was when we were sow'd, and just began
From some few fruitful Drops, the Promise of à Man:
Then Nature's Hand (fermented as ic was)
Moulded to Shape the foft coagulated Mass;
And when the little Man was fully form’d,
The breathless Embryo with a Spirit warmd :
But when the Mother's Throes begin co come,
The Creature pent within the narrow Room,
Breaks his blind Prison, pushing to repair
His stifled Breath, and draw the living Air;
Caft on the Margin of the World he lies
A helpless Babe, but by Instinct he cries :
He next essays to walk, but downwards pressa,
On four Feet imitates his Brother-Beast:
By flow Degrees he gathers from the Ground
His Legs, and to the Rouling-Chair is bound:
Then walks alone, a Horseman now become,
He rides a Stick, and cravels round the Room.
In time he vaults among his youthful Peers,
Strong bond, and strung with Nerves, in Pride of Years.
He runs with Mettle his first merry Stage,
Maintains the next, abated of his Řase,
But manages his Strength and spares his Age:
Heavy the third, and stiff, he links äpace,
And tho' 'cis Down-hill all, but creeps along the Race.