That of my Love, you found so small Effect,
Ne'r think, 'twas want of True Love, or Respect,
'Twas more my Value for you, than Neglect;
Which rather shou'd, prove my Love to thee more,
As I, to prove it to thee, had less Pow'r;
Since Love, like Rage, when it is in Excess,
But, as 'tis more, can prove itself the less;
'Tis Mettle makes the Furious Courser fall,
Who, for his Speed, comes later to the Goal;
Whose Haste, is but his Speed's Impediment,
Till that, which shou'd most forward his Intent,
Does its own End, pursuing it, prevent;

Why shou'd the Fear of certain Death surprize
A Mortal Man? who living, daily dies;
Death is born with him, he but for it lives,
He then in vain, to shun or 'scape it strives;
Since from his Birth, he but begins to die,
By Life consumes, though imperceptibly;
So Death, the Thoughts of which does Life torment,
Is less Life's End, than its Accomplishment;
Then Death shou'd neither be Man's Fear, or Grief,
Which from all Fear, Pain, Grief, is his Relief;
So he from Sense fears Death, most senslessly,
Who hopes, by Death, for Immortality,

L AST in these favour'd ranks of Hymen's train
Matilda wears the myrtle's hallow'd chain.
Perhaps a Hermit's musing visions fail
To bind in Zephyr's hand the Summer's gale;
Else he could promise to so match'd a pair
Love at the heart, and spirits light as air.
I warn'd her against pride; — but when like this,
It is the Fairy's wand of nuptial bliss —
Pride in the rank that Love has made his own,
For sense and virtue are a scepter'd throne.

LET those lament thy flight,
Who find a new delight
In every hour that o'er them swiftly flies:
Whose hearts are free and strong
As some well-carolled song,
That charms the ear with ever fresh surprise.

To Wealth's stern devotee
Too fast the moments flee,
That gainful schemes to golden issues bring;
And Fame's deluded child,
By Glory's dream beguiled,
To twine his laurel wreath would stay thy wing.

They who have learned to bind
The warm and restless mind
In soft content to Pleasure's rosy car,

I.

Had my Desire been less,
My Passion had been more;
'Twas but my Love's Excess,
Which took away its Pow'r;
As when our Rage, does too much Passion vent,
Our Passion makes our Vengeance impotent;

II.

'Twas not, your Want of Charms,
Nor yet my Want of Love,
Made me then, in your Arms,
My self a Craven prove;
My vain Assault, was but your Praise, my Shame,
My Weakness does your Beauty's Pow'r proclaim;

III.

Why cause my Trouble, yet forbid my Grief?
Since to cry out in Pain, is some Relief;
Blocks weep i'th' Fire, and heated Boards will groan,
Why give me Pain, and yet forbid my Moan?
Why me still in Love's Flames your Martyr keep?
And yet forbid me to complain, or weep;
Ev'n Oak, i'th' Fire, as stubborn as it is,
Will weep, will sigh, will flie, will groan, or hiss;
Why wou'd you have my Heart of Oak for you
Burn out, yet of Love's Flame no Sense to show;
Since Flames have Pow'r, by Virtue of their Heat,
To give some Sense to things Inanimate;

I.

All over, I'm in Love with thee,
As thou, all over, Lovely art,
No Part of thee, but pleases me,
Except thy proud, ungentle Heart;

II.

I can't say, 'tis thy Lip, or Eye,
Or this, or that peculiar Grace,
But I, for all together Die,
Which make up thy Dear Killing-Face;

III.

Your Beauty's Glory's evident,
Tho' where it is, we cannot say;
Thus, unseen Stars i'th'Element,

You did my Motion to be heard, forbid,
Yet me, for want of Moving, non-suited;
You say, by bold Claims you, like Heav'n, are lost,
That he who fears and trembles, merits most;
That you, as Heav'n, Men by Presumption lose,
You, your Blest, by their Self-denials chuse;
That they their Merit lose, of Faith and Love,
When they Love's Joys to be their Due wou'd prove;
As Beggars bold, who rather claim than sue,
Forfeit that Pity, which were else their Due;
Then I, since thee, not as my Right, I crave,
Shou'd thee sure, as my Right, in Justice have;

I.

Kind Opportunity's a Friend
To Lovers, tho' Time is a Foe;
The first, is like a Mistress, kind,
If that you do not let her go;
But Time, that Thief, away will take again,
What t'other for thee, did in haste, obtain:

II.

Then trust not Faithless Time, (my Dear,)
With Beauty, Love, or Happiness;
Since Time is a Discoverer,
He never to be trusted is;
Time, (whilst you have it then,) be sure improve,
And never trust a Run-away with Love:

By her talent a secret will Celia discover,
As the picture will speak — it will say that I love her .