Why fo dull and mute, young Sinner! Will, when speaking well can't win her, Quit, quit for fhame, this will not move, If of herself she will not love, Tell me then the Reafon, why Oh Love! How are thy precious sweetest Minutes Ah! cruel Heav'n, that made no Cure for Love! What prieftly Rites, alas! what pious Art What Vows avail to cure a bleeding Heart? A gentle Fire the feeds within her Veins, Where the foft God fecure in Sile ce reigns : Sick with Defire, and feeking him he loves, From Street to Street the raging Dido roves; Sack!, Rock. Row. Uly Dryd. Virg. Se So when the watchful Shepherd, from the Blind, It felf discharges on our Foes; Rowze to the Combat, : Dryd. Virg. Wall: Dryd. Sec. Lovë, And thou art fure to conquer: Wars fhall reftore thee, Begun by Sloth, and nurs'd by too much Eafe. He binds deluded Maids and fimple Swains: Scar'd at the noble Noife,and Thunder of theWar.Rom.Tamerl I banish thee my Bofom: Hence, I fay, Be gone; or I will tear the Strings that hold thee, By Heav'n I'll drown thy laughing Deity In Blood, and drive thee with my brandish'd Sword.Lee Mithrid. Yes! Yes! I will fhake this Cupid' from my Arms, To let it Blood: Set Babylon in a Blaze, (Lee Alex And drive this God of Flames with more confuming Fire. But True and Faithful's fure to lofe, Hud. The Faith of moft with Fortune does decline, Duty's but Fear, and Confcience but Defign. How Wife Men and Gods are on the ftrongeft Side. Sedl. Ant.&Cleep For whom fhould we effeem above The Men whom Gods do love. The Laws of Friendship we our felves create, And 'tis but fimple Villany to break 'em. But Faith to Princes broke is Sacrilege, An Injury to the Gods; and that loft Wretch, Whofe Breaft is poifon'd with fo vile a Purpose, Roch. Valent. Tears Thunder down from Heav'n on his own Head, LUST. As Virtue never will be mov'd, Tho' Lewdnefs court it in a Shape of Heav'n: So Luft, tho' to a radiant Angel joyn'd, Will feat it felf in a celeftial Bed, And pray on Garbage. To a Lady playing on the LUTE. Shak. Ham? The trembling Strings about her Fingers crowd, And tell their Joy for ev'ry Kifs aloud: Small Force there needs to make them tremble fo; Mufick fo foftens and difarms the Mind, Wall. Thine, like Amphion's Hand, had rais'd the Stone, Nor could he burn fo faft as thou could'ft build. Prier. LYRE. Awake, awake, my Lyre, And tell thy filent Mafter's humble Tale, Sounds that gentle Thoughts infpire: And I fo lowly be, Tell her fuch different Notes make all thy Harmony. And tho' the moving Hand approach not near, A kind of num'rous Trembling make : Now all thy Charms apply; Revenge upon her Ear the Conquefts of her Eye. Is useless here, fince thou art only found And the to wound, but not to cure. Too weak too wilt thou prove Phyfick to other Ills, thou'rt Nourishment to Love. Sleep! fleep again, my Lyre; For thou canft never tell my humble Tale In Sounds that will prevail, Nor gentle Thoughts in her inspire: All thy vain Mirth lay by, Bid thy Strings filent lie, Sleep, fleep again, my Lyre, and let thy Master die. MAD. Now fee that noble and moft fov'raign Reafon, 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; fpeaks things in Doubt, That carry but half Senfe: Yet her unfhap'd Ufe 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 Geftures yield them, Behold her lying in her Cell, Her unregarded Locks Matted like Furies Treffes; her poor Limbs Shak. Haml. Chain'd to the Ground; and ftead of thofe Delights, Which happy Lovers tafte, her Keeper's Stripes, A Bed of Straw, and a coarse wooden Dish Of wretched Suftenance. Obferve the Gallantry of her Distraction: Otw. Orph Hark how the mouths the Heav'ns, and mates the Gods; While with her thund'ring Voice fhe threatens high, As Heaps of Sand, and featt'ring wide from Senfe. Wild As a robb'd Tigrefs bounding o'er the Woods. Wild as Winds, That sweep the Defarts of our moving Plains. Madmen ought not to be mad, But who can help their Frenzy ? 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 Lee Oedip. Dryd, Span. Fry. 'Lee Oedip. Dryd. Don Seb. Dryd. Span. Fry. Dryd. Span. Fry. Till they ferment to Madness. A Woman is the thing Name not a Woman and I shall be well: Bat |