No, brothers! no despairing — Envy's eye,
Sharp and malevolent, may pierce ye through —
Yet wound not truth by weakness, nor undo
Her victories by mistrust — nor faint — nor fly —
Since truth should stand erect, and lift on high
Her glorious standard; for she can subdue
Resistance into fealty — blasphemy
Into pure worship, — into reverence true.
Truth is a storm on Lebanon, that shaketh
The mighty cedars which resist her shock;
Oppos'd — far mightier is the stir she maketh —
Her tongue is as a sword — her breath a rock —

Cease, soft Belinda , to deplore
Your favour'd Dove , who feels no more,
Nor can your Grief the Loss repair;
Rather compassionate your Swain ,
Who lives , and loves, and sighs in vain,
And longs for Death to end his Care .

Who can describe, in Numbers fit,
All the new Pangs by Lovers found;
When, undesigning, first they meet;
Give and receive the destin'd Wound?

Who can? Yet since this friendly Lay
Damon demands, O Muse rehearse
What govern'd Fancy bids thee say —
May Phaebus aid the flowing Verse!

Love wears a Thousand diff'rent Forms;
He wins the Heart a Thousand Ways:
Now like a Deity he storms;

Vain are the most of Womankind — —
A virtuous Consort who can find?
In real Value she excells
Whatever shines on Rocks and Shells .

Her Husband's Soul in her confides;
Nor she his Confidence derides:
She seeks his Honour all her Days;
And ne'er her plighted Faith betrays.

Her Industry finds Flax and Wool,
And her own Fingers fill the Spool ;
Her Hands are harden'd at the Wheel,
The Distaff, and the loaded Reel,

Before the Sun she leaves her Bed;

ON HER SPENDING TOO MUCH TIME AT THE LOOKING GLASS .

While at the mirror, lovely maid,
You trifle time away,
Reflect how soon your bloom will fade,
How soon your charms decay.

By nature form'd to please the eye,
All studied airs disdain; —
From art, from affectation fly,
And fashions light and vain.

Turn from the glass , and view your mind , —
On that bestow some care;
Improve, correct it, till you find

When Men have honest Wives at home,
Yet take the Liberty to roam;
They can't with too much Caution act,
In keeping close an amorous Fact:
'Tis not enough to hide their Sin
From all, but those concern'd therein:
From even those they should conceal
What may the Crime of both reveal.
With neither Friend nor Foe they must
The nicest of their Secrets trust.

 Some Punster cries, who loves to strain
The Sense of Words, This is not plain——
In amorous Facts what do Folks do,
But search each other's Secrets thro'?

I.

As lovesick Damon lay along
 Beneath a melancholy Shade ,
Sooth'd by the nightly Warbler 's Song,
 Thus the unhappy Shepherd said,

II.

Sweet Philomel , who haunt the Grove ,
 Where I lament my wretched Fate ,
Our joint Complaint , alas! is Love ,
 The Diff'rence of our Fortune great.

III.

Relief to me no Seasons bring,
 For ever doom'd, to sigh in vain;
But you, sweet Bird , who mourn in Spring ,
 In Summer Pleasures lose your Pain .

IV.

Already from yon bloomy Spray,

A SONG .

Why should I, in gloomy anguish,
Weep the heavy time away?
Or the swain for whom I languish,
In dull sorrow waste the day?

Generous minds, suspicion scorning,
Let no jealous fears annoy,
But, with grace their souls adorning,
Soften absence, meet with joy.

I, in lonely Shades complaining,
Still must love , and must not tell ;
You, o'er crouded Circles reigning,
Laugh at Love , or hide it well.

II.

If, indeed, you never languish,
Tell me, how you shun the Dart ;
If, like me, you feel the Anguish,
Teach me to conceal the Smart.

III.

Say, what courtly Art in fashion
Hides the language of the Eyes?
Learn a simple Swain his Passion,

A Rhiming Letter now and then,
From City Jack to Country Ben ;
Or, if the Verse as well would end,
From John to Benjamin his Friend;
Will still, I hope, as welcome be
As once the Author's Company.

And as 'twas ne'er my Custom, quite
To miss myself in what I write,
So, now I've nothing else to say,
I'll tell thee how I spend the Day.

Imprimis Then, for Methods sake,
('Tis not my Will, so don't mistake)
I'm none of those uneasy Fellows
Who leave at Five o'Clock their Pillows;