Selected quad for the lemma: death_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
death_n	life_n	love_n	soul_n	8,923	5	5.0064	4	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A64333	The temple of death a poem / written by the Marquess of Normanby ...; Temple de la mort. English	Habert, Philippe, 1605-1637.; Buckingham, John Sheffield, Duke of, 1648-1720 or 21.; Horace. Ars poetica. English.; Howard, Robert, Sir, 1626-1698. Duel of the stags.; Roscommon, Wentworth Dillon, Earl of, 1633?-1685. Horace, of the Art of poetry.	1695 (1695)	Wing T663; ESTC R35214	58,282	289

Thunder follows whose resistless Rage None can withstand and nothing can Asswage So oft the Light which those bright flashes gave Serves only to conduct us to our Grave When I had just begun Love's Joys to taste Those full Rewards for Fears and Dangers past A Fever seiz'd her and to nothing brought The richest Work that ever Nature Wrought All things below alas uncertain stand The firmest Rocks are fix'd upon the Sand Under this Law both Kings and Kingdoms bend And no beginning is without an end A Sacrifice to Time Fate dooms us all And at the Tyrant's Feet we daily fall Time whose bold hand alike does bring to dust Mankind and all those Powers in which they trust Her wasted Spirits now begin to faint Yet Patience ties her Tongue from all Complaint And in her Heart as in a Fort remains But yields at last to her resistless pains Thus while the Fever am'rous of his Prey Through all her Veins makes his delightful way Her Fate 's like Semile's the Flames destroy That Beauty they too eagerly enjoy Her charming Face is in its Spring decay'd Pale grow the Roses and the Lilies fade Her Skin has lost that lustre which surpast The Sun's and did deserve as long to last Her Eyes which us'd to pierce the firmest hearts Are now disarm'd of all their Flames and Darts Those Stars now heavily and slowly move And Sickness triumphs in the Throne of Love The Fever every moment more prevails Its rage her Body feels and Tongue bewails She whose disdain so many Lovers prove Sighs now for Torment as they sigh for Love And with loud Crys which rend the neighb'ring Air Wounds my sad heart and wakens my Despair Both Gods and Men I charge now with my loss And wild with Grief my Thoughts each other cross My Heart and Tongue labour in both extreams That sends up slighted Prayers while this blasphemes I ask their help whose malice I defie And mingle Sacriledge with Piety But that which does yet more perplex my mind To Love her truly I must seem unkind So unconcern'd a Face my Sorrow wears I must restrain unruly floods of Tears My Eyes and Tongue put on dissembling forms I shew a Calmness in the midst of Storms I seem to hope when all my hopes are gone And almost dead with grief discover none But who can long deceive a Loving Eye Or with dry Eyes behold his Mistress die When Passion had with all its terrours brought Th' approaching danger nearer to my Thought Off on a sudden fell the forc'd disguise And shew'd a sighing heart in weeping Eyes My apprehensions now no more confin'd Expos'd my sorrows and betray'd my mind The Fair Afflicted Soon perceives my Tears Explains my Sighs and thence concludes my Fears With sad Presages of her hopeless Case She reads her Fate in my dejected Face Then feels my Torment and neglects her own While I am Sensible of hers alone Each does the others burden kindly bear I fear her Death and she bewails my Fear Though we thus suffer under Fortune's Darts 'T is only those of Love which reach our Hearts Mean-while the Fever mocks at all our Fears Grows by our Sighs and rages at our Tears Those vain effects of our as vain desire Like Wind and Oyl increase the fatal fire Almeria then feeling the Destinies About to shut her Lips and close her Eyes Weeping in mine fix'd her fair trembling Hand And with these words I scarce could understand Her Passion in a dying Voice express'd Half and her Sighs alas made out the rest 'T is past this pang Nature gives o'er the strife Thou must thy Mistress Lose and I my Life I die but dying thine the Fates may prove Their Conquest over me but not my Love Thy Memory my Glory and my Pain In spight of Death it self shall still remain Ah! Dear Orontes my hard Fate denys That hope is the last thing which in us dies From my griev'd Breast all those soft Thoughts are fled And Love survives although my Hope is dead I yield my Life but keep my Passion yet And can all thoughts but of Orontes quit My flame increases as my strength decays Death which puts out the light the heat does raise That still remains though I from hence remove I lose my Lover but I keep my Love The Sigh which sent forth that last tender word Up towards the Heav'ns like a bright Meteor soar'd And the Kind Nymph bereft of all her Charms Fell cold and breathless in her Lover's Arms Which shews since Death could deny him relief That 't is in vain we hope to die with grief Goddess who now my Fate has understood Spare but my Tears and freely take my Blood Here let me end the Story of my Cares My Dismal Grief enough the rest declares Judge thou by all this Misery display'd Whether I ought not to implore thy aid Thus to survive reproaches on me draws And my sad wishes have too Just a Cause Come then my only hope in every place Thou visitest Men tremble at thy Face And fear thy Name once let thy fatal hand Fall on a Swain that does the blow demand Vouchsafe thy Dart I need not one of those With which thou dost unwilling Kings depose Thy weakest my desir'd release can bring And free my Soul already on her wing But since all Prayers and Tears are vain I 'll try If spite of thee 't is possible to dy A PARAPHRASE On the CXLVIII PSALM By the Earl of Roscommon OAzure Vaults O Crystal Sky The World 's transparent Canopy Break your long silence and let Mortals know With what contempt you look on things below Wing'd Squadrons of the God of War Who Conquer wheresoe'er you are Let Echoing Anthems make his Praises known On Earth his Foot-stool as in Heaven his Throne Great Eye of All whose Glorious Ray Rules the bright Empire of the Day O praise his Name without whose purer Liglit Thou hadst been hid in an Abyss of Night Ye Moon and Planets who dispence By God's Command your Influence Resign to him as your Creatour due That Veneration which Men pay to you Fairest as well as first of things From whom all Joy all Beauty springs O praise the Almighty Ruler of the Globe Who useth thee for his Empyreal Robe Praise him ye loud harmonious Sphaeres Whose Sacred Stamp all Nature bears Who did all Forms from the rude Chaos draw And whose Command is th' universal Law Ye wat'ry Mountains of the Sky And you so far above our Eye Vast ever-moving Orbs Exalt his Name Who gave its being to your Glorious Frame Ye Dragons whose Contagious Breath Peoples the dark Retreats of Death Change your fierce hissing into joyful Song And praise your Maker with your forked Tongue Praise him ye Monsters of the Deep That in the Seas vast Bosoms sleep At whose Command the foaming Billows roar Yet know their Limits Tremble and Adore Ye Mists and Vapours Hail and Snow And you who through the Concave

their Griefs to senceless Trees 'T is now to me no pleasure to rehearse A doleful Tale in Melancholy Verse Men are more Deaf than Trees more Wild than Seas Complaints and Tears will sooner Storms appease Than draw soft pity from an Humane Breast All Sooth the Happy and Despise the Opprest Each Man who lives of sorrow hath his share Or else of Pride and cannot pity spare For those whose weight is more than one can bear All who are happy do their Merit boast Think Heaven ows 'em more and Heav'n is Just. Still they observe the Opprest with Partial Eyes And think their Crimes draw Vengeance from the Skies But were they gentle pitiful and mild Not as they are rough unconcern'd and wild What Joy can pity bring on other's Grief For what I feel affords me no relief To see another's Eyes with pity melt For wretched me would add to what I felt Since in Complaints there can no ease be found For such an Heart as mine in sorrow drown'd Sleep sleep Melpomene thou mournful Muse For of my Torments I will thee accuse I 'll say thou keep'st 'em waking with thy Charms And drives soft slumbers from my Longing Arms. Sleep sleep my Muse and let my Cares alone But if thou wilt not since thy Harp is strung Attend a while and like a dying Swan My latest Accents shall be sweetly sung WIT 's ABUSE By the same Author I Ask not why Astraea fled away But wonder more why any Vertues stay In such a World where they are made a scorn Oppress'd by numerous Vice mangled and torn Wounded by Laughter and by Wit forlorn I mean not here by Wit what 's truly so But that false Coin which does for Current go 'T is certain but a few can Judgment make Of such a gift which but a few partake Ignorant Judges may decide a Cause Sooner against than for Concealed Laws This is Wit 's Pledge but few those Precepts know Which many false Pretenders over-throw And yet amongst those very few there are Some who betray that Glorious Character Whilst low-born Falshood goes for Heavenly Wit How many aim at what so few can hit The Trade of Hell was never hard to get Thus these Intruders double ends pursue Rooting out Wit they root out Vertue too Soft pity passes now for Servile Fear A generous scorn of Life for mean despair Truth and Sincerity the Fools proclaim Which witty falshood always load with shame An Active Soul affected Notions prove Out-flying common Thoughts or private Love Thus tho' each Vertue in it self they hate They love to make it add to a Deceit Undress'd 't is scorn'd but favour'd and allow'd When to the Neighbouring Vice it lends a Cloud Thus the Inconstant Empress of the Night Tho' foul and spotted cloaths her self with Light And can with borrow'd Beams be always bright MY FATE By the same Author RAising my drooping Head o'er charg'd with Thought Having each Scene of Life before me brought I chid my self because I durst repine At Nature's Laws or those that were Divine Throughout the whole Creation 't is the same The Fuel is devoured by the Flame Each peaceful harmless unoffending thing Is to the Offender made an Offering Even God himself Hold my aspiring Thought Descend my Muse thy flight too high is wrought Tell not how He all peaceful and all kind Was offer'd for the vilest of Mankind A Victim for the vilest was design'd Descend I say my Muse low things afford Theams high enough for thee Touch not the Word Till he hath touch'd thy Wings with Grace Divine Then only his thou shalt the World decline The harmless Dove the Falcon doth betray The Lamb is to the Wolf become a Prey And Men to whom free will Heaven doth impart To follow still the Counsels of his Heart If wrack'd with doubt if harmless he designs Peace to his Heart and still his Wish confines Justice to Peace and Love to Quiet joyns Why then the Dove-like Fate will sure be his Short is his Life unsettled is his Bliss Hard Fate that choice we eagerly pursue Is or to be undone or to undo ON THE DEATH OF Mr. Abraham Cowley AND HIS BURIAL IN Westminster-Abbey By the Earl of Orrery OUR Wit till Cowley did its lustre raise May be resembled to the first Three Days In which did shine only such streaks of Light As serv'd but to distinguish Day from Night But Wit breaks forth in all that he has done Like Light when 't was united in the Sun The Poets formerly did lie in wait To rifle those whom they would imitate We Watch'd to rob all strangers when they writ And learnt their Language but to steal their Wit He from that need his Country does redeem Since those who want may be supply'd from him And Foreign Nations now may borrow more From Cowley than we could from them before Who though he condescended to admit The Greeks and Romans for his Guides in Wit Yet he those Ancient Poets does pursue But as the Spaniards great Columbus do He taught them first to the New World to steer But they possess all that is precious there When first his Spring of Wit began to flow It rais'd in some Wonder and Sorrow too That God had so much Wit and Knowledge lent And that they were not in his Praises spent But those who in his Davideis look Find they his Blossoms for his Fruit mistook In diff'ring Ages diff'rent Muses shin'd His Green did Charm the Sense his Ripe the Mind Writing for Heaven he was inspir'd from thence And from his Theam deriv'd his Influence The Scripture will no more the Wicked fright His Muse does make Religion a Delight Oh how severely Man is us'd by Fate The Covetous toil long for an Estate And having got more than their Life can spend They may bequeath it to a Son or Friend But Learning in which none can have a share Unless they climb to it by Time and Care Learning the truest Wealth which Man can have Does with his Body perish in his Grave To Tenements of Clay it is confin'd Tho' 't is the Noblest Purchace of the Mind Oh why can we thus leave our Friends possest Of all our Acquisitions but the best Still when we study Cowley we lament That to the World he was no longer lent Who like a Lightning to our Eyes was shown So bright he shin'd and was so quickly gone Sure he rejoyc'd to see his flame expire Since he himself could not have rais'd it higher For when wise Poets can no higher flie They would like Saints in their perfection die Though Beauty some Affection in him bred Yet only Sacred Learning he would wed By which th' Illustrious Off-spring of his Brain Shall over Wit 's great Empire ever Reign His Works shall Live when Pyramids of Pride Shrink to such Ashes as they long did hide That Sacrilegious Fire which did last Year Level those Piles which Piety did rear Dreaded near that Majestick

But they are all most visibly possest And like a baited Bear when he breaks loose Without distinction seize on all they meet None ever scap'd that came within their reach Sticking like Leeches till they burst with blood Without remorse insatiably they read And never leave till they have read Men dead THE TEMPLE OF DEATH By the Earl of Mulgrave A Translation out of FRENCH IN those cold Climates where the Sun appears Unwillingly and hides his face in tears A dreadful Vale lies in a Desart Isle On which indulgent Heaven did never smile There a thick Grove of Aged Cypress Trees Which none without an awful horrour sees Into its wither'd Arms depriv'd of Leaves Whole Flocks of ill-presaging Birds receives Poysons are all the Plants the Soyl will bear And Winter is the only Season there Millions of Graves cover the spacious Field And springs of blood a thousand Rivers yield Whose streams opprest with Carcases and Bones Instead of gentle Murmurs pour forth Groans Within this Vale a famous Temple stands Old as the World it self which it commands Round is its figure and four Iron-Gates Divide Mankind by order of the Fates There Come in Crouds doom'd to one common Grave The Young the Old the Monarch and the Slave Old Age and Pains which Mankind most deplores Are faithful Keepers of those sacred Doors All clad in mournful Blacks which also Load The sacred Walls of this obscure Abode And Tapers of a pitchy substance made With Clouds of smoak increase the dismal Shade A Monster void of Reason and of Sight The Goddess is who sways this Realm of Night Her Power extends o'er all things that have breath A Cruel Tyrant and her Name is Death The fairest Object of our wond'ring Eyes Was newly offer'd up her Sacrifice Th' adjoining places where the Altar stood Yet blushing with the fair Almeria's Blood When griev'd Orontes whose unhappy flame Is known to all that e'er converse with Fame His mind possest by Fury and Despair Within the Sacred Temple made this Prayer Great Deity Who in thy hands do'st bear That rusty Scepter which poor Mortals fear Who wanting Eyes thy self respectest none And neither spares the Laurel nor the Crown Oh thou whom all Mankind in vain withstands Each of whose Blood must one day stain thy Hands Oh thou who every Eye which sees the Light Closest again in an eternal Night Open thy Ears and hearken to my Grief To which thy only Power can give Relief I Come not hither to prolong my Fate But wish my wretched Life a shorter date And that the Earth would in its Bowels hide A Wretch whom Heaven invades on every side That from the sight of Day I could remove And might have nothing left me but my Love Thou only Comforter of Minds opprest The Port where wearied Spirits are at rest Conducter to Elyzium Take my Life My Breast I offer to thy Sacred Knife So just a Grace refuse not nor despise A Willing though a Worthless Sacrifice Others their frail and mortal State forgot Before thy Altars are not to be brought Without constraint the noise of dying rage Heaps of the Slain of every Sex and Age The blade all reeking in the gore it shed With sever'd Heads and Arms confus'dly spread The Rapid Flames of a perpetual fire The Groans of Wretches ready to expire This Tragick Scene makes them in Terrour Live Till that is forc'd which they should freely give Yielding unwillingly what Heaven will have Their fears eclipse the Glory of their Grave Before thy Face they make undecent moan And feel a hundred Deaths in fearing one The flame becomes unhallow'd in their Breast And he a Murtherer who was a Priest His Hands profan'd in breaking Nature's Chain By which the Body does the Soul detain But against me thy strongest Forces call And on my Head let all the Tempest fall No shrinking back shall any weakness shew And Calmly I 'll expect the fatal blow My Limbs not trembling in my mind no fear Plaints in my Mouth nor in my Eyes a Tear Think not that time our wonted sure relief That universal Cure for every grief Whose aid so many Lovers oft have found With like success can ever heal my wound Too weak's the Power of Nature or of Art Nothing but Death can ease a broken heart And that thou mayst behold my helpless state Learn the extreamest rigour of my Fate Amidst th' innumerable beauteous Train Paris the Queen of Cities does contain The fairest Town the largest and the best So fair Almeria shin'd above the rest From her bright Eyes to feel a hopeless flame Was of our Youth the most ambitious aim Her Chains were marks of Honour to the Brave She made a Prince when e'er she made a Slave Love under whose Tyrannick Power I groan Shew'd me this Beauty e'er 't was fully blown Her tim'rous Charms and her unpractis'd Look Their first assurance from my Conquest took By wounding me she learnt the fatal Art And the first sigh she had was from my Heart My Eyes with Tears moist'ning her snowy Arms Render'd the Tribute owing to her Charms But as I soonest of all Mortals paid My Vows and to her Beauty Altars made So among all those Slaves that sigh'd in vain She thought me only worthy of my Chain Loves heavy burden my Submissive Heart Endur'd not long before she bore her part My violent flame melted her frozen Breast And in soft Sighs her pity she exprest Her gentle Voice allay'd my raging Pains And her fair hands Sustain'd me in my Chains Even Tears of Pity waited on my moan And tender Looks were cast on me alone My hopes and dangers were less mine than hers Those filled her Soul with Joys and these with Fears Our hearts united had the same desires And both alike burn'd in Impatient Fires Too Faithful Memory I give thee Leave Thy wretched Master kindly to deceive Make me not once possessor of her Charms Let me not find her Languish in my Arms Past Joys are now my Fancies mournful Theams Make all my happy Nights appear but Dreams Let not that Bliss before my Eyes be brought Oh! hide those Scenes from my tormenting Thought And in their place Disdainful Beauty shew If thou would'st not be cruel make her so And something to abate my deep Despair Oh let her seem less Gentle or less Fair. But I in vain flatter my wounded Mind Never was Nymph so Lovely or so Kind No cold Repulses my Desires supprest I seldom sigh'd but on Almeria's Breast Of all the Passions which Mankind destroy I only felt excess of Love and Joy Numberless Pleasures charm'd my Sense and they Were as my Love without the least Allay As pure alas but not so sure to last For like a pleasing Dream they all are past From Heav'n her Beauty like fierce Light'ning came Which breaks through Darkness with its Glorious Flame A while it Shines a while our Sight it chears But soon the short-liv'd Comfort disappears And

will seign Though I break my Heart disdain But lest I too unkind appear For ev'ry Frown I 'll shed a Tear And if in vain I court thy Love Let mine at least thy pity move Ah while I scorn vouchsafe to woo Methinks you may dissemble too Streph. Ah Phillis that you wou'd contrive A way to keep my Love alive But all your other Charms must fail When Kindness ceases to prevail Alas No less than you I grieve My dying flame has no reprieve For I can never hope to find Shou'd all the Nymphs I Court be kind One Beauty able to renew Those Pleasures I enjoy in you When Love and Youth did both conspire To fill our Breasts and Veins with fire 'T is true some other Nymph may gain That Heart which merits your Disdain But second Love has still allay The Joys grow aged and decay Then blame me not for losing more Than Love and Beauty can restore And let this truth thy comfort prove I wou'd but can no longer Love THE DIVIDED HEART By the same Author AH Celia that I were but sure Thy Love like mine cou'd still endure That Time and Absence which destroy The Cares of Lovers and their Joy Cou'd never rob me of that part Which you have giv'n me of your Heart Others unenvy'd might possess Whole Hearts and boast that Happiness 'T was Nobler Fortune to divide The Roman Empire in her Pride Than on some low and barb'rous Throne Obscurely plac'd to rule alone Love only from thy Heart exacts The several Debts thy Face contracts And by that new and juster way Secures thy Empire and his sway Fav'ring but one he might compel The hopeless Lover to rebel But shou'd he other Hearts thus share That in the whole so worthless are Shou'd into several Squadrons draw That strength which kept entire cou'd awe Men would his scatter'd Powers deride And conqu'ring Him those spoils divide To Mr. J. N. on his Translations out of French and Italian By the same Author WHile others toil our Country to supply With what we need only for Luxury Spices and Silk in the rich East provide To glut our Avarice and feed our Pride You Foreign Learning prosperously transmit To raise our Virtue and provoke our Wit Such brave Designs your Gen'rous Soul inflame To be a bold Adventurer for Fame How much oblig'd are Italy and France While with your Voice their Musick you advance Your growing Fame with Envy can oppose Who sing with no less Art than they Compose In these Attempts so few have had success Their Beauties suffer in our English Dress By Artless Hands spoil'd of their Native Ayr They seldom pass from moderately fair As if you meant these Injuries to atone You give them Charms more Conqu'ring than their own Not like the dull laborious Flatterer With secret Art those Graces you confer The skilful Painters with slight stroaks impart That subtil Beauty which affects the Heart There are who publickly profess they hate Translations and yet all they Write Translate So proud they scorn to drive a Lawful Trade Yet by their Wants are shameless Pirates made These you incense while you their Thefts reveal Or else prevent in what they meant to steal From all besides you are secure of praise But you so high our Expectation raise A gen'ral Discontent we shall declare If such a Workman only should repair You to the Dead your Piety have shewn Adorn'd their Monuments now build your own Drawn in the East we in your Lines may trace That Genius which of old inspir'd the place The banish'd Muses back to Greece you bring Where their best Airs you so Divinely sing The World must own they are by you restor'd To sacred shades where they were first ador'd Virtue 's Urania By the same Author HOpeless I languish out my Days Struck with Vrania's Conqu'ring Eyes The Wretch at whom she darts these rays Must feel the Wound until he dies Though endless be her Cruelty Calling her Beauties to my Mind I bow beneath her Tyranny And dare not murmur she 's unkind Reason this tameness does upbraid Proff'ring to arm in my defence But when I call her to my aid She 's more a Traytor than my sense No sooner I the War declare But strait her succour she denies And joyning Forces with the Fair Confirms the Conquest of her Eyes SYLVIA By the same Author THe Nymph that undoes me is Fair and Unkind No less than a Wonder by Nature design'd She 's the Grief of my Heart the Joy of my Eye And the cause of a Flame that never can die Her Mouth from whence Wit still obligingly flows Has the Beautiful Blush and the Smell of the Rose Love and Destiny both attend on her Will She wounds with a Look with a Frown she can kill The Desperate Lover can hope no redress Where Beauty and Rigour are both in excess In Sylvia they meet so unhappy am I Who sees her must Love and who Loves her must die TO CELIA By Sir Charles Sedley AS in those Nations where they yet adore Marble and Cedar and their aid implore 'T is not the Workman nor the precious Wood But 't is the Worshipper that makes the God So cruel Fair tho Heaven has giv'n thee all We Mortals Virtue or can Beauty call 'T is we that give the Thunder to your Frowns Darts to your Eyes and to our selves the Wounds Without our Love which proudly you deride Vain were your Beauty and more vain your Pride All envy'd Beings that the World can shew Still to some meaner thing their greatness owe. Subjects make Kings and we the numerous Train Of Humble Lovers Constitute thy Reign This difference only Beauties Realm may boast Where most it favours it enslaves the most And they to whom it is indulgent found Are ever in the rudest Fetters bound What Tyrant yet but thee was ever known Cruel to those that serv'd to make him one Valour 's a Vice if not with Honour joyn'd And Beauty a Disease when 't is not kind THE SUBMISSION By the same Author AH Pardon Madam if I ever thought Your smallest Favours could too dear be bought And the just greatness of your Servant's Flame I did the poorness of their Spirits Name Calling their due attendance Slavery Your power of Life and Death flat Tyranny Since now I yield and do confess there is No way too hard that leads to such a bliss So when Hippomanes beheld the Race Where Loss was Death and Conquest but a Face He stood amazed at the fatal strife Wondring that Love shou'd dearer be than Life But when he saw the Prize no longer staid But through those very dangers sought the Maid And won her too O may his Conquest prove A happy Omen to my purer Love Which if the honour of all Victory In the resistance of the Vanquisht lie Though it may be the least regarded Prize Is not the smallest Trophy of your Eyes CONSTANCY By the same Author FEar not My Dear a

weight of Sin hath press'd me to the Ground Who is it now my Freedom can restore My Youth and Captive Virgins are no more 19. I call'd for all my Friends but they were gone Friendship grows cold when Misery comes on With Hunger pin'd my Priests and Rulers Dy'd Within my Walls perish'd my Strength and Guide 20. My Crimes were great so are my Sorrows Behold my Lord see the Afflicted bow now Abroad th' unwearied Sword bereaves of Breath And Grief at Home is a more Cruel Death 21. All round me hear my Sighs and see my Tears Whilst there is none that can relieve my Cares My Foes hear and rejoyce at what is done But thou wilt surely Lord at last return And then the Enemy like me will Mourn 22. Their Crimes are great turn Mighty Lord and see Affict 'em then as thou Afflictest me My Griefs are great turn therefore and Relent My Sighs are many and my Heart is Faint TO CELIA By an vnknown Hand ALL things submit themselves to your Command Fair Celia when it does not Love withstand The power it borrowed from your Eyes alone All but himself would yield to who has none Were he not blind such are the Charms you have He 'd quit his Godhead to become your Slave Be proud to act a Mortal Hero's part And throw himself for Fame on his own Dart But Fate hath otherwise dispos'd of things In different Bonds Subjecting Slaves and Kings That Fate like you resistless does ordain That Love alone should over Beauty Reign By Harmony the Universe does move And what is Harmony but Mutual Love See gentle Brooks how quietly they glide Kissing the rugged Banks on either side Whil'st in their Crystal Stream at once they show And with them feed the Flowers which they bestow Though prest upon by their too rude Imbrace In gentle Murmurs they keep on their pace To their Lov'd Sea for even Streams have Desires Cool as they are they feel Love's Pow'rful Fires And with such Passion that if any force Stop or molest 'em in their Am'rous Course They swell with Rage break down and Ravage o'er The Banks they Kiss'd the Flowers they fed before Who would resist and Empire so Divine Which Universal Nature does enjoyn Submit then Celia e're you be reduc'd For Rebels Vanquisht once are vilely us'd And such are you when e're you dare obey Another Passion and your Love betray You are Love's Citadels by you he reigns And his proud Empire o'er the World maintains He trusts you with his Stratagems and Arms His Frowns his Smiles and all his Conquering Charms Beauty 's no more but the dead Soil which Love Manures and does by wise Commerce improve Sailing by Sighs through Seas of Tears he sends Courtship from Foreign Hearts For your own Ends Cherish a Trade for as with Indians we Get Gold and Jewels for our Trumpery So to each other for their useless Toys Lovers afford Inestimable Joys But if you 're fond of Trifles be and Starve Your Gugaw Reputation preserve Live upon Modesty and empty Fame Foregoing Sense for a Fantastick Name SONG By a Person of Honour * AS he lay in the Plain his Arm under his Head And his Flock feeding by the fond Celadon said If Love 's a Sweet Passion why does it Torment If a Bitter said he whence are Lovers Content Since I suffer with Pleasure why should I complain Or grieve at my Fate when I Know 't is in vain Yet so pleasing the Pain is so soft is the Dart That at once it both Wounds me and Tickles my Heart To my self I sigh often without knowing why And when Absent from Phillis methinks I could Die But Oh! what a Pleasure still follows my Pain When kind Fortune do's help me to see her again In her Eyes the bright Stars that foretel what 's to come By soft stealth now and then I examine my Doom I press her Hand gently look languishing down And by Passionate Silence I make my Love known But Oh! how I 'm Blest when so kind she do's prove By some willing Mistake to discover her Love When in striving to hide she reveals all her Flame And our Eyes tell each other what neither dare name A SONG By Mrs. Wharton HOW hardly I conceal'd my Tears How oft did I complain When many tedious Days my Fears Told me I Lov'd in vain But now my Joys as wild are grown And hard to be conceal'd Sorrow may make a silent Moan But Joy will be reveal'd I tell it to the Bleating Flocks To every Stream and Tree And Bless the Hollow Murmuring Rocks For Echoing back to me Thus you may see with how much Joy We Want we Wish Believe 'T is hard such Passion to Destroy But easie to Deceive ON THE STORM BETWEEN Gravesend and Diepe Made at that Time By the same Author WHen the Tempestuous Sea did foam and roar Tossing the Bark from the long-wish'd for Shore With false affected fondness it betray'd Striving to keep what Perish'd if it stay'd Such is the Love of Impious Men where e're Their cruel Kindness lights 't is to ensnare I toss'd in tedious Storms of troubled Thought Was careless of the Waves the Ocean brought My Anchor Hope was lost and too too near On either hand were Rocks of sad Despair Mistaken Seamen prais'd my fearless Mind Which sunk in Seas of Grief could dare the Wind. In Life tempestuous Life is dread and harm Approaching Death had no unpleasing Form Approaching Death appeases ev'ry Storm TO Mrs. A. BEHN On what she Writ of The Earl of Rochester By the same Author IN pleasing Transport rap't my Thoughts apire With humble Verse to Praise what you Admire Few living Poets may the Laurel claim Most pass thro' Death to reach at Living Fame Fame Phoenix like still rises from a Tomb But bravely you this Custom have o'ercome You force an Homage from each Generous Heart Such as you always pay to just Desert You prais'd him Living whom you Dead bemoan And now your Tears afresh his Laurel crown It is this Flight of yours excites my Art Weak as it is to take your Muse's part And pay loud Thanks back from my bleeding Heart May you in every pleasing Grace excel May Bright Apollo in your Bosome dwell May yours excel the Matchless Sappho's Name May you have all her Wit without her Shame Tho' she to Honour gave a fatal Wound Employ your Hand to raise it from the ground Right its wrong'd Cause with your Inticing Strain Its ruin'd Temples try to build again Scorn meaner Theams declining low desire And bid your Muse maintain a Vestal Fire If you do this what Glory will insue To all our Sex to Poesie and you Write on and may your Numbers ever flow Soft as the Wishes that I make for you TO MELPOMENE AGAINST COMPLAINT By the same Author IN soft Complaints no longer ease I find That latest refuge of a Tortur'd Mind Romantick Heros may their Fancy please In telling of